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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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https  ://arch  ive.org/details/mosaics  1 902vi  rg 


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MOSAICS 


Published  by  the  Girls  of  the 
Virginia  Frmale  Institute 
Staunton  :  :  :  Virginia 


Press  of  The  Stone  Printing  and  Manufacturing  Company 
- Roanoke,  Virginia- 


SSTftUMTOW  PUBLIC  LIBRARY 


The,  Virginia  Pemale  Institute. 


Colors. 

RED,  WHITE  AND  RED. 

Yell. 

Hobble  !  Gobble  !  Hobble  !  Gobble  ! 
Hip,  si,  hi ! 

Vive-a-la!  Vive-a-la ! 


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“®l? p  glorious  a  tljouannb  timpa  btrtoriouB,  immortal  flag 
of  tljp  (Confpbpratp  States.” 

****** 

“fpa,  gtfae  mp  a  lanb  that  is  hlpat  bg  tljp  bust, 

Anb  brigljt  hritlj  tljp  bppba  of  tljp  bobin-trobhpn  just. 
$pb  gtfap  mp  tt|p  lanb  kiljrrp  tljp  battlp’a  rpb  blast 
iSjaa  flaaljpb  to  tljp  futurp  tljp  famp  of  tljp  past ; 

HJpb,  gtbp  mp  tbr  lanb  of  tljp  torprb  anb  tljp  tomb, 
SHjprp  tB  granbpur  in  grabpB — tljprp  ia  glory  in  gloom ; 
Anb  parlj  ainglp  hirprk  in  tljp  tnar-patij  of  migljt 
$ljall  ypt  bp  a  rork  in  tljp  tprnplp  of  rigljt’* 


DEDICATION. 


TO  the  memory  of  the  women  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy,  who,  like  us, 
had  the  honor  of  calling  the  old  Insti¬ 
tute  their  Alma  Mater,  and  who  honored  her 
in  doing  so,  this  volume  is  dedicated. 

Misfortunes  of  all  kinds  stood  in  their 
way ;  poverty,  anxiety,  sickness,  and  the 
death  of  loved  ones  on  bloody  fields ;  but 
handed  down  to  them  from  generation  to 
generation  was  the  fortitude  which  enabled 
these  Southern  women,  like  Spartans,  to  pass 
into  that  great  vale  of  sorrow  and  come  out 
purified. 

If  once  more  that  grand  roll-call  were 
heard  in  our  little  chapel,  many  a  spotless 
name  would  be  followed  by  silence.  But 
the  sweet  memory  of  those  gentle  lives 
would  rise  before  us.  Those  calm,  sweet 
faces,  lined  with  sorrow  but  stamped  with 
victory,  seem  to  urge  us  to  a  higher,  a  nobler  existence  as  we  wonder  at  the  soft,  subdued  light 
shed  by  such  purity  and  nobleness  over  our  paths,  not  rugged  like  theirs.  The  faces  of  those 
left  to  respond  to  that  sad  roll-call  bear  the  same  heroic  marks,  and  the  influence  of  those 
quiet,  magnificent  lives,  and  the  kind,  encouraging  words  used  by  those  who  have  fought  the 
good  fight  and  won,  still  guide  and  govern  and  help  us  to  attain  that  noble  womanhood  so 
beautifully  exemplified  in  them.  Perhaps  these  pure,  grand  women,  over  whom  the  surge  of 
war  passed,  once  looked  back  on  other  lives  for  guidance,  inspiration,  and  help,  when  gay, 
joyous  schoolgirls,  they  went  out  with  little  thought  of  the  anguish  of  war,  but  with  noblest 
traits  soon  to  be  brought  out  by  sorrow  and  pain. 

Then  the  influence  of  our  Alma  Mater  showed  itself.  Those  beautiful  ideals  instilled  by  her 
into  their  hearts  as  into  the  hearts  of  those  who  came  after  and  who  will  come,  found  perfection 
in  the  unspotted  hearts  of  our  Southern  Confederate  Alumnae.  And  as  they  inspired,  guided, 
and  encouraged  those  brave  soldiers,  so  still  the  dead,  living  in  memory,  and  the  living,  by  each 
word  and  deed,  help  us  onward  and  upward  to  the  high  level  of  those  women  who  were  tried 
and  not  found  wanting. 


Kate  Pretlow. 


INDEX. 


“  Tragedy,  comedy,  history,  pastoral, 
pastoral-comical,  historical-pastoral, 
tragical-historical,  tragi cal-comical-his- 
torical-pastoral,  scene  individable,  or 
poem  unlimited.” 


Preface-. 


“ Excellence  may  be  considered  in  the  light  of  an  axiom  which  need  only  be 
properly  put  to  become  self-evident .  It  is  not  excellence  if  it  requires  to 
be  demonstrated  as  such;  and  thus  to  point  out  too  particularly  the  merits  of 
a  work  of  art  is  to  admit  that  they  are  not  ?nerits  altogether .” 


“  The  name  ‘  Mosaics,’  ”  so  says  a  noted  correspondent  of  ours,  “  suggests 
a  remark  made  by  a  lady  thirty-eight  years  ago  when  passing  this  school. 
The  street  had  just  been  macadamized.  Tt  consisted  of  finely  broken  rocks, 
rammed  down  into  a  sort  of  mosaic.  The  lady  was  fond  of  puns.  As  she 
crossed  the  rough  way,  the  pointed  rocks  pressing  on  her  thin  shoes  made 
her  exclaim:  “  This  mosaic  is  not  what  it  is  cracked  up  to  be.  It  makes  my 
feet  mos’  ache.” 

We  indorse  the  sentiments  of  our  noted  correspondent  who  trusts  that  we 
will  not  make  his  “  head  mos’  ache  with  wit  and  learning,”  and  we  hope  that 
you  will  consider  our  Mosaics  more  than  it  is  cracked  up  to  be. 


5 


Board  of  Trustees. 


v  v  v 

RT.  REV.  FRANCIS  M.  WHITTLE,  D.  D„  LL.  D.,  President  .  Richmond,  Virginia 

RT.  REV.  ROBERT  A.  GIBSON . Richmond,  Virginia 

RT.  REV.  ARCHIBALD  MAGILL  RANDOLPH,  D.  D,  LL  D.  .  Richmond,  Virginia 

REV.  HARRY  B  LEE  .  ....  Charlottesville,  Virginia 

JOHN  G.  WILLIAMS,  Esq.  . Charlottesville,  Virginia 

JUDGE  JAMES  C.  LAMB  . Richmond,  Virginia 

MR.  H.  C.  MARCHANT . Charlottesville,  Virginia 

MR.  JOSEPH  BRYAN . Richmond,  Virginia 

WILLIAM  W.  OLD,  Esq . Norfolk,  Virginia 

MAJOR  THOMAS  C.  ELDER . Staunton,  Virginia 

MR.  ALEXANDER  F.  ROBERTSON . Staunton,  Virginia 

CAPTAIN  THOMAS  D.  RANSON . Staunton,  Virginia 

WILLIAM  A.  ANDERSON,  Esq. . Lexington,  Virginia 

MR.  ALBERT  BAKER  . Winchester,  Virginia 

BOARD  or  DIRECTORS. 

MAJOR  THOMAS  C.  ELDER . Chairman 

MR.  ALEXANDER  F.  ROBERTSON . Treasurer 

MR.  RICHARD  P.  BELL . Secretary 

CAPTAIN  THOMAS  D.  RANSON  MR.  JAMES  R.  TAYLOR 


6 


FACULTY. 


V  V  V 


MISS  MARIA  PENDLETON  DUVAL 

PRINCIPAL 


MISS  ASENATH  HARRISON 
MISS  BESSIE  LEWIS  WHITAKER 
MISS  CORA  BOWIE  FITZHUGH 
MISS  LUCY  LEE  POWELL 
MISS  JANET  GODWIN  WHITFIELD 
MISS  L.  G.  HESTER 
MISS  ELIZABETH  JAMES 
MISS  ELIZABETH  MARSH 
MISS  SOPHIA  G.  LUTTGEN 
MRS.  H.  F.  NORRIS 
MADEMOISELLE  CLAIRE  GEORGSON 
MR.  BERKELEY  MINOR 
MR.  FRANK  R.  WEBB 

OFFICERS. 

MRS.  R.  B.  BROOKE 
MISS  HARRIOT  STRIBLING  TROUT 
MISS  MARY  BLAND  MURPHY 

7 


Board  of  Editors 


AAA 

CARRIE  KIGER  CONWAY . Editor-in-Chief 


Associate  Editors 

LYDIA  DOZIER  LEE  LOUISE  BRISCOE 

LOUISE  SHACKELFORD  FONTAINE 

SALLIE  F.  HIGGINBOTHAM  ANNIE  HENDREN  PATRICK 

LOULIE  ATKINSON  SNEAD 

AUGUSTA  WILLEY  ANNIE  C.  BERKELEY. 


Business  Commit  fee. 

ANNIE  HENDREN  PATRICK . Business  Manager 

BESSIE  M.  KIRBY  LOUISE  JONES  ELISE  WILSON 

ANNE  PERRIN  KEMP  JENNIE  MINGE 

Art  Committee. 

ELSIE  DANENHOWER  FRANCES  DANENHOWER 

KATE  PRETLOW  JEAN  WILCOX 


entertainment  Committee. 

LILIAN  LANIER  ANNE  FREEMAN  LYDIA  FULLER 

SUSAN  ADAMS  MARGARETTA  WISE 


8 


C  BEfiXtU 


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BOARD  OF  EDITORS. 


<*yXH  !  the  humor  of  it!  ”  To  plot  and  plan  our  various  ventures,  and, 
II  entrusting  them  to  the  protection  of  Mosaics,  send  them  forth  to 
amaze  the  world.  Our  Pegasus  will  not  be  restrained,  hut  bears  us 
along  at  a  breakneck  speed.  Since  the  first  call  for  contributions,  such  an 
avalanche  of  poems,  fables,  narrations,  etc.,  has  fallen  upon  us,  that  were  we 
not  a  large  board  of  large  editors,  it  is  doubtful  if  we  could  bear  up  under  the 
load.  And  from  this  medley  we  have  selected  what  has  the  greatest  claim  to 
merit,  what  will  best  represent  our  school-life  and  the  characteristics  of  our 
girls,  and  what,  in  later  years,  when  in  reminiscent  mood  we  excavate  this 
time-worn  volume  from  its  hiding-place,  will  give  us  the  most  vivid  and  the 
most  pleasant  picture  of  “  the  days  that  are  no  more.” 

Judge,  then,  our  effort  by  our  aim.  And  whenever  we  make  a  suc¬ 
cess,  applaud  it,  we  beg  of  you,  and  when  our  meaning  becomes  obscure,  wag 
your  head  in  a  perplexed  manner,  and  mutter  to  yourself  of  a  subtlety  of 
meaning  which  you  can  not  grasp.  Our  habitual  modesty  will  not  allow  us  to 
expatiate  at  length  on  the  merits  of  our  work,  so  we  shall  let  it  speak  for 
itself.  And  our  only  wish,  gentle  reader,  is  that  you  may  gain  from  a  perusal 
of  it  as  much  pleasure  as  we  have  received  from  writing  it. 

We  acknowledge  our  indebtedness  to  all  who  have  assisted  us  in  so  many 
ways;  we  render  especial  thanks  to  those  who  have  helped  us  swell  our 
index — and  likewise  to  those  who  haven’t — and  again,  as  we  make  our  retir¬ 
ing  how,  we  ask  your  patient  indulgence;  and  for  our  Annual,  long  life,  and 
a  merry  one!  Sallie  F.  Higginbotham. 


i  i 


Roll  Gall 


Susan  Adams  .  .  .  .  K  A  2,  Basketball  Team,  Dramatic  Club . Erie,  Pennsylvania 

Mary  Allen . Staunton,  Virginia 

Anna  Alvey . K  A  T,  Stuart  Literary  Society  ....  Hagerstown,  Maryland 

Marion  Arbuckle . Staunton,  Virginia 

Josephine  Beale . Point  Pleasant,  West  Virginia 

Anne  Bell .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Sue  Bell . Staunton,  Virginia 

Annie  C.  Berkeley  .  .  K  A  T,  E.  L.  A.,  S.  L.  S.,  Dramatic  Club  ....  Danville,  Virginia 

Archie  Berkeley . Staunton,  Virginia 

Mary  Berkeley  . Staunton,  Virginia 

Anne  Berkeley . Staunton,  Virginia 

Lelia  Blair,  .  .  .  .  K  A  2,  S.  L.  S.,  Basketball  Team,  Dramatic  Club  .  Richmond,  Virginia 

Melville  Bolling . Staunton,  Virginia 

Cecilia  Bratton . Basketball  Team . Princess  Anne,  Maryland 

Louise  Briscoe  ...  .  E.  L.  A.,  S.  L.  S.,  Board  of  Editors  .  Charlestown,  West  Virginia 

Amelia  Brooke . . Staunton,  Virginia 

Winifred  Browse  .  . . Grape  Island,  West  Virginia 

Augusta  Burwell . K  A  T,  Basketball  Team  ....  Anne  Arundel,  Maryland 

May  Carmichael . Cincinnati,  Ohio 

Mary  Clagett . Berryville,  Virginia 

Carrie  Conway  .  K  A  2,  E.  L.  A.,  S.  L.  S.,  Editor-in-Chief  Mosaics,  Dramatic  Club, 

Basketball  Team  .  . Vicksburg,  Mississippi 

Edmonia  Cooke  .  .  .  .  . King  William  County,  Virginia 

Roberta  Cox . Moundsville,  West  Virginia 

Elsie  Danenhower,  K  A  2,  E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team  ..  Washington,  District  of  Columbia 

Frances  Danenhower  ....  . Washington,  District  of  Columbia 

Dora  Dickins . Richmond,  Virginia 

Evelina  Dunbar .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Irene  Duval . Jacksonville,  Florida 

Louise  Eakle .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Fannie  Eakle . S.  L.  S . Staunton,  Virginia 

Louise  Fontaine . S.  L.  S.,  Board  of  Editors . Beaver  Dam,  Virginia 

Nannie  Frazier . Basketball  Team . . Zanesville,  Ohio 

Anne  Freeman  .  .  .  .  K  A  2,  E.  L.  A.,  S.  L.  S.,  Dramatic  Club  ....  Norfolk,  Virginia 

Lydia  Fuller . K  A  2 . Washington,  District  of  Columbia 

Mary  Glenn . Staunton,  Virginia 


Rosa  Glenn . Staunton,  Virginia 

Nellie  Greer . Staunton,  Virginia 

Frances  Greer  .  . Staunton,  Virginia 

Mary  Greer .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Nellie  Gordon . K  A  T,  E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team.  .  .  .  Richmond,  Virginia 

Louise  Hawkins . Atlanta,  Georgia 

Annice  Hawkins . Atlanta,  Georgia 

Al  Louise  Hendricks . Washington,  District  of  Columbia 

Hallie  Henkel . Staunton,  Virginia 

Sallie  Higginbotham  .  .  .  .  S.  L.  S.,  Board  of  Editors . Staunton,  Virginia 

Virginia  Hilleary  . .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Myra  Hodgman . Moundsville,  West  Virginia 

Helen  Holliday . Staunton,  Virginia 

Isabel  Howard . Basketball  Team  .  .  Washington,  District  of  Columbia 

Caroline  Hoy . E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team  .  .  .  Charleston,  West  Virginia 

K.  Hutchinson . Staunton,  Virginia 

Annie  Jett .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Louise  Jones  .  K  A  T,  E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team,  Dramatic  Club  .  .  .  Norfolk,  Virginia 

Anne  Kemp . S.  L.  S . El  Paso,  Texas 

Bessie  Kirby  .  .  .  E.  L.  A.,  Captain  Basketball  Team,  Dramatic  Club  .  .  Houston,  Texas 

Lena  Knowles . Staunton,  Virginia 

Lillian  Lanier . Dramatic  Club .  Houston,  Texas 

Gabrielle  Lavielle . S.  L.  S.,  Dramatic  Club . Houston,  Texas 

Lydia  Lee  .  .  K  A  2,  President  E.  L.  A.,  S.  L.  S.,  President  German  Club,  Board  of 

Editors,  Umpire  Basketball  Team,  Dramatic  Club  .  Sumter,  South  Carolina 

Virginia  Lee . K  A  T,  E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team.  .  .  .  Charlottesville,  Virginia 

Louise  Littig . Staunton,  Virginia 

Cora  Lutz . E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team . Leesburg,  Virginia 

Jennie  Mapp .  .  .  Baltimore,  Maryland 

Frances  Mapp . Basketball  Team . Baltimore,  Maryland 

Cornelia  Maxwell . Staunton,  Virginia 

Gladys  Maxwell . Staunton,  Virginia 

Frances  Mayer .  Basketball  Team . Norfolk,  Virginia 

Anna  McKinney . E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team  .  .  Parkersburg,  West  Virginia 

Margaret  Michie . Fort  Sam  Houston,  San  Antonio,  Texas 

Martha  Miller . Staunton,  Virginia 

Jennie  Minge  ...  .  K  A  T,  E.  L.  A . New  Orleans,  Louisiana 

Nellie  Minor . Basketball  Team . Baltimore,  Maryland 

Margaret  Moore . K  A  T,  S.  L.  S . Berryville,  Virginia 

Adelaide  Myer . Staunton,  Virginia 

Courtney  Olivier . Staunton,  Virginia 

Esbell  Owings . Baltimore,  Maryland 

Mary  Owings . Baltimore,  Maryland 


13 


Frances  Page . Basketball  Team . Winchester,  Virginia 

Annie  Patrick  .  K  A  T,  E.  L.  A.,  S.  L.  S.,  Business  Manager  Mosaics  .  Staunton,  Virginia 
Kate  Pretlow  .  .  K  A  2,  E.  L.  A.,  S.  L.  S.,  Basketball  Team,  Dramatic  Club. 

Franklin,  Virginia 

Hallie  Read  ....  .  .  K  A  2,  E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team  .  .  .  Elkins,  West  Virginia 

Bessie  Riggs . Laytonsville,  Maryland 

Sarah  Robertson .  .....  .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Susie  Robertson . Staunton,  Virginia 

Marion  Sharp . S.  L.  S . Parkersburg,  West  Virginia 

Nellie  Shiles . . Washington,  District  of  Columbia 

Ida  Sims .  Powellton,  Virginia 

Ethel  Sinnott . Basketball  Team . Nashville,  Tennessee 

Alice  Smith .  Frederick,  Maryland 

Sue  Smith . Franktown,  Virginia 

Loulie  Snead . S.  L.  S.,  Board  of  Editors . Staunton,  Virginia 

Helen  Talbott . Iv  A  T .  Rockville,  Maryland 

Mattie  Taylor .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Charlotte  Taylor . Oak  Grove,  Virginia 

Edith  Timberlake . Staunton,  Virginia 

Lenore  Tinsley . Richmond,  Virginia 

Mary  Todd . Staunton,  Virginia 

Mary  Turner . .  .  .  Wicomico  Post-Office,  Maryland 

Florence  Tyree .  Staunton,  Virginia 

Nannie  Waddill  .  Richmond,  Virginia 

Carter  Warren . K  A  T . Harrisonburg,  Virginia 

Katharine  Wheelock,  K  A  2,  E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team,  Dramatic  Club, 

Fort  Wayne,  Indiana 

Mary  Whittle . Staunton,  Virginia 


Jean  Wilcox 
Mary  Wilcox  . 
Sallie  Williams 
Willis  Williams 
Augusta  Willey 


. Basketball  Team . Dresden,  North  Carolina 

•  •  •  •  .  Dresden,  North  Carolina 

...  Basketball  Team . Martinsville,  West  Virginia 

. . .  .  .  Lexington,  Virginia 

S.  L.  S.,  Board  of  Editors,  Basketball  Team 

Elise  Wilson . E.  L.  A.,  Basketball  Team  .  .  . 

Laura  Wise . . 

Margaretta  Wise  ...  .  Iv  A  T,  S.  L.  S.,  Dramatic  Club  . 

Mildred  Woodward,  ...••.  K  A  T,  S.  L.  S . 


Louisville,  Kentucky 
Baltimore,  Maryland 
Staunton,  Virginia 
.  .  New  York  City 
Richmond,  Virginia 


Louise  Woodward . Staten  Island,  New  York 

Annie  Voight . Norfolk,  Virginia 

Carrie  Voight . Norfolk,  Virginia 

CORINA  \  alz . Staunton,  Virginia 

Julia  \en . S.  L.  S . Shanghai,  China 

Lillian  Young . Silver  City,  Mexico 

Aurelia  Zirkle . Staunton,  Virginia 


14 


■  AN  N  A  M  C  K ;  N  N  E  V 


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MOST  ATTRACTIVE  AND  PORULARCl«l 


A  Prophecy. 


IT  was  midnight  of  one  of  the  most  exciting  days  in  the  annals  of  the 
V.  F.  I. — Election  Day !  My  brain  was  still  in  a  whirl,  and  my  mind  was 
but  a  mass  of  tangled  thoughts  of  the  votes,  the  voters,  and  the  voted- 
upon,  yet  here  I  was  forced  to  sit  by  the  dim  light  of  a  candle  and  write  a 
class  prophecy,  and  that,  too,  with  the  class  conspicuous  by  its  absence.  Truly 
a  preposterous  idea !  but  “  what  man  has  done,  man  can  and  must  do,”  so, 
with  a  submissive  groan,  I  tried  to  put  aside  all  thoughts  of  the  all-absorbing 
election.  Still  I  could  not  help  idly  wondering  what  would  become  of  those 
girls  who  had  received  a  majority  of  votes  for  the  prettiest,  the  handsomest, 
the  most  attractive,  etc.,  and  as  I  happened  to  glance  at  my  Virgil,  lying  on 
the  table,  I  half-mockingly  cried,  “Oh,  for  a  Cassandra!” 

“  Who  calls  my  name  ?”  said  a  voice  from  the  book. 

To  quote  one  of  Virgil’s  favorite  lines,  “I  stood  amazed,  my  hair  rose,  and 
my  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth.”  Mentally  vowing  never  to  make 
another  rash  wish,  I  plucked  up  the  courage  of  a  daughter  of  the  V.  F.  I.,  and 
requested  the  voice  to  reveal  to  me  the  future  fates  of  those  girls  who  had 
been  elected  that  day. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  I  was  sinking  back,  half  in  relief  and  half  in 
despair,  when  I  felt  myself  rising  higher  and  higher  till  I  could  faintly  hear 
the  strains  of  a  piano,  which  sounded  very  like  the  instrument  in  No.  5  prac¬ 
tice  room.  At  last,  the  sound  became  very  loud,  and  I  found  myself  on  a 
high  mountain,  in  a  grove  crowded  with  white  figures.  By  my  mythology  I 
instantly  recognized  the  spot  to  be  Mt.  Olympus,  and  I  began  to  identify  the 
various  gods  and  goddesses.  Suddenly  I  stopped  short,  for,  in  the  midst, 
playing  on  a  grand  piano,  sat  a  strangely  familiar  form.  Jupiter  himself  was 
turning  over  the  music.  Most  of  the  celestial  beings  looked  bored,  but  Juno 
was  watching  her  spouse  with  a  look  that  boded  ill  for  both  him  and  the  fair 
musician.  I  watched  in  puzzled  silence,  till  the  piano  struck  up  “  Creole 
Belles.”  Then  I  knew,  and  with  a  cry  of  “Anna!”  would  have  rushed  for¬ 
ward,  but  the  whole  scene  dissolved  in  clouds,  and  I  was  falling  down. 

The  motion  was  like  a  prolonged  descent  in  an  elevator,  and,  therefore, 


19 


I  was  getting  uncomfortably  dizzy  when  the  unseen  power  deposited  me  on 
the  fifth  story  of  a  tenement  house.  In  front  of  me  was  a  door  with  “  Artist  ” 
written  on  it  in  gold  letters.  I  opened  it,  and  walked  into  what  seemed  to 
be  a  moderately  furnished  studio,  with  easels,  casts,  half-finished  sketches  cast 
about  pell-mell.  A  despairing  groan  made  me  turn  to  one  corner  where  a 
figure  enveloped  in  a  painting  apron  was  slashing  viciously  at  a  canvas,  and 
exclaiming :  “  Why,  in  the  name  of  Michael  Angelo  doesn’t  Virginia  come  ? 

The  Corcoran  Art  Exhibition  to-morrow,  and  I ’m  at  a  standstill  because  I 
need  her  for  this  Cleopatra.  Commend  me  to  a  model  for  trying  the  patience 
of  Job  himself.”  At  this  moment  the  door  was  thrown  violently  open,  and 
a  handsome  brunette  rushed  forward,  waving  a  newspaper,  and  crying,  “  Oh, 
Elsie  !  Have  you  heard  the  news  ?” 

“  Well,”  said  the  apron-enveloped  being,  sarcastically,  “for  the  ‘  Queen 
of  the  Ballet  Dancers’  you  seem  slightly  excited.” 

“  Oh,  do  stop  guying  me  about  being  a  dancer.  IIow  I  wish  the  report¬ 
ers  would  give  me  another  name  !  But  listen  to  the  news.  Lydia  has  broken 
her  twenty-first  engagement,  was  married  secretly  last  night  to  a  minister,  a 
widower  with  nine  children,  and  sails  to-day  for  China.  There ’s  a  whole 
page  about  the  wedding  herein  the  Journal,  with  pictures  of  the  bride,  the 
groom,  the  groom’s  father  and  mother,  the  bride’s  mother  and  father,  and  all 
nine  of  the  children.  Wonder  if  4  Lyds  ’  will  be  popular  with  the  4  heathen 
Chinee,’  and  if  he  ’ll  think  her  attractive  ?  ” 

Here  Virginia  paused  for  breath,  which  gave  the  artist  time  to  scornfully 
remark,  “  Pshaw  !  The  truth ’s  not  in  a  newspaper.” 

“But,”  triumphantly,  “Nan  wrote  me  the  same  thing  in  a  letter  yester¬ 
day.” 

“  Then  it ’s  so.  What  that  sweet  Nan  doesn’t  know  in  the  way  of  gossip 
wouldn’t  buy  me  a  box  of  second-class  water  colors!  How ’s  she  getting  on 
with  her  soldier  boy  ?” 

“  Oh,  they  say  she  rules  him  completely,  makes  him  attend  to  the  house¬ 
hold  affairs,  while  she  gives  lectures  on  Woman’s  Rights.  You  never  can 
tell  what  kind  of  women  these  sweet  girls  will  make.” 

“  Nor  the  pretty  ones.  Who  would  have  expected  Augusta  to  be  un¬ 
married  at  twenty-eight?  She ’s  had  suitors  enough.” 


20 


“Perhaps  it  was  a  case  of  ‘  too  many  irons  in  the  fire.’  However,  she 
seems  to  enjoy  being  President  of  the  Benevolent  Society,  Secretary  of  the 
Woman’s  Auxiliary,  Manager  of  the  Matron’s  Hospital,  general  leader  in 
social  and  religious  events,  with  her  photograph  among  Munsey’s  types  of  fair 
women,  and - ” 

But  the  speech  was  cut  short,  for  up  the  stairs  came  a  thundering  tread, 
the  door  was  tiung  wide,  and  a  broad-shouldered,  athletic-looking  woman 
stood  on  the  threshold. 

“  Well,  Mayer,”  cried  the  artist  and  the  model.  “  How ’d  the  game  come 
off?  A  mere  walk-over  as  usual  ?  You  know  the  center  rush  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Basketball  Team  has  been  boasting  that  he  was  more  than  a  match  for 


you.” 

“  Well,”  replied  the  champion  grimly,  “  he  won’t  boast  again.” 

“  What,  you  didnt  kill  him  ?  ” 

“Oh,  no;  I  just  happened  to  fall  upon  him  in  the  excitement  of  the 


game.” 


“  Do  be  careful,”  cried  Elsie,  as  the  professional  basketball  ■ 'player ,  over¬ 
come  by  her  laughter,  sank  into  a  frail  gold  and  white  chair. 

“  By  the  way,”  said  Mayer,  when  she  had  sufficiently  recovered,  “  there 
were  several  Brazilian  ministers  at  the  game,  and  they  told  me  Anne  was  as 
good  a  student  as  ever.” 

O 


“  What  do  they  know  about  her?”  cried  Virginia  and  Elsie  in  surprise. 

“  Haven’t  you  heard?”  said  Mayer.  “  Why,  she  studied  herself  into  a 
fever  at  the  V.  F.  I.,  was  sent  to  South  America  to  recuperate,  took  about 
two  years  to  recover,  then  married  the  President  of  the  Argentine  Republic, 
and  has  recently  established  an  Institute  on  the  Rio  de  La  Plata  modeled 
after  the  V.  F.  I.  She  wrote  me  recently  that  she  was  expecting  her  Delsarte 
teacher,  an  old  school-mate,  by  the  evening  express.  Guess  who.  Give  it 
up?  Well,  it’s  Frances  Mapp.  She’ll  enjoy  teaching  the  little  Argen¬ 
tinians  the  art  of  being  graceful ,  and  the  gymnasium  affords  unusual 
advantages,  as  the  La  Plata  will  be  just  the  thing  for  a  natatorium.” 

Again  overcome  by  her  laughter,  Mayer  forgot  to  be  cautious,  and  the 
result  was  that  the  chair  gave  way,  and  in  the  crash  the  artist,  the  model  and 
queen  of  ballet  dancers,  and  the  champion  basketball  player,  faded  away. 


21 


When  tilings  again  began  to  take  shape  I  was  in  a  crowded  opera  house 
in  Vienna.  The  audience  was  on  the  “  qui  vive,”  as  the  program  announced 
that  an  American  prima  donna  would  make  her  debut.  Slowly  the  curtain 
rolled  up,  and  the  singer  came  forward  amidst  a  generous  applause.  Her 
face  looked  strangely  like  an  old  schoolmate’s.  “Can  it  be  Elise  ?  ”  I 
wondered.  There  was  a  deep  hush,  then  a  voice,  pure  and  sweet,  rang 
through  the  lofty  building,  going  straight  to  every  heart.  When  the  last 
note  died  away  the  spellbound  audience  sprang  to  their  feet,  gloves  were 
split,  bravas  rent  the  air,  flowers  came  thick  and  fast,  great  ladies  tearing  the 
roses  from  their  hair  to  toss  to  the  singer.  Encore  followed  encore  till,  at 
last,  the  curtain  fell  on  a  perfect  tumult  of  applause,  and  the  irresistible 
power  hurried  me  on. 

This  time  I  stopped  in  a  huge  library,  with  tiers  upon  tiers  of  books, 
reaching  to  the  ceiling.  I  glanced  at  some  of  the  titles,  Spinoza’s  Improve¬ 
ment  of  the  Understanding ,  and  Nature  and  Origin  of  the  Mind ,  Schopenhauer’s 
Wisdom  of  Life,  Doctrine  of  the  Ideal  and  Reed,  Observations  on  the  Kantian 
Philosophy ,  and  The  Method ,  Meditations,  and  Philosophy  of  Descartes ,  and 
turned  away  with  a  groan.  In  the  middle  of  the  apartment  an  ink- 
bespattered  person  was  busily  writing  at  '  a  massive  table.  Stacks  of 
manuscript  lay  on  the  table,  while  quantities  were  piled  about  on  the 
floor.  In  one  corner  a  secretary  was  industriously  copying  autographs  for 
future  generations.  Finally,  the  figure  blotted  the  last  page,  wiped  the  pen, 
laid  it  carefully  down,  and  rose  to  her  feet.  “  At  last,  it  is  done,”  she  cried 
in  an  awe-inspiring  whisper.  The  Phrenological  Phenomena  of  Psychological 
Delusions  is  completed.  Already  I  hear  countless  millions  applauding  the 
cleverest  treatise  of  the  century.  Let  me  now  read  the  whole  work  over 
aloud.” 

At  this  fearful  announcement  the  secretary  fled,  the  books  with  the 
unanimous  cry,  “  Spare  us,”  fell  to  the  floor,  burying  the  authoress  beneath 
tons  of  weighty  knowledge,  and  I  awoke  to  find  the  candle  burned  out,  and 
my  Virgil  lying  half  open  on  the  floor. 

And  as  for  the  fates  disclosed,  if,  gentle  reader,  you  scofi  at  this  second 
prophecy  of  the  spirit  of  Cassandra,  remember  that  Troy  fell. 

Carrie  K.  Conway. 


22 


Lydia  Lee  .  . 

A.  C.  Berkeley 
Anne  Freeman 
Louise  Briscoe 


Officers. 

. President 

. Vice-President 

.  Secretary 

. Treasurer 


Members. 


Anna  Alvey  Annie  Patrick 

Lelia  Blair  Kate  Pretlovv 

Carrie  Conway  Marion  Sharp 

Fanny  Eakle  Loulie  Snead 

Louise  Fontaine  Sallie  Williams 

Sallie  Higginbotham  Augusta  Willey 

Anne  Kemp  Margaretta  Wise 

Gabrielle  Lavielle  Mildred  Woodward 

Margaret  Moore  Julia  Yen 


24 


THE  STUART  LITERARY  SOCIETY. 


E.  L.  A. 


Officers. 


Lydia  Lee  .  . 

Carrie  Conway 
Anna  McKinney 
Kate  Pretlow 


President 

Vice-President 

Librarian 

Secretary 


Members. 


Annie  C.  Berkeley 
Elsie  Danenhower 
Kellie  Gordon 
Louise  Jones 

Virginia  Lee 


Louise  Briscoe 

Anne  Freeman 
Carrie  Hoy 

Bessie  Kirby 
Cora  Lutz 


Jennie  Minge 

Katharine  Wiieelock 


IIallie  Bead 

Elise  Wilson 


26 


Missionary  Society. 


Officers. 


Anne  Freeman . 

President 

Anne  Kemp  . 

Vice-President 

Kate  Pretlow . . 

Secretary 

Lydia  Lee  .......... 

Treasurer 

Number  of  Members,  Sixty. 

28 


Kappa  Alpha  Tau. 


^Jennie  Minge 
Louise  Jones 
Margaret  Moore 

V 

Augusta  Burwell 

> 


Annie  C.  Berkeley 
I^ellie  Gordon 
Carter  Warren 
Margaretta  Wise 


Virginia  Lee 


Helen  Talbott 


Mildred  AVoodward 

V 

Anna  Alyey 


30 


KAPPA  ALPHA  TAU  FRATERNITY 


Kappa  Della  $igma 


ydia  Lee 

Carrie  Conway 

Anne  Freeman 

Kate  Pretlow 

Elsie  Danenhower 

Susan  Adams 

Lydia  Fuller 

Katharine  Wheelock 

Hallie  Read 

Lelia  Blair 

At  Twilight 


Tit  the  misty,  mellow  twilight 
Of  a  Summer  afternoon, 

€re  we  start  the  genial  lamp’s  rays, 

Chough  the  night  be  coming  soon  ? 

Ulhen  the  sun  in  lingering  splendor, 
now  sinks  far  behind  the  trees, 

Hnd  across  the  lake  there  stirreth 
merest  whispers  of  a  breeze? 

Ulhen  the  moon,  a  silver  crescent, 

Shineth  d  mly  through  a  cloud ; 

Hnd  the  merry  stars  come  peeping 
from  their  mist-encircling  shroud, 

T  lie  back  among  the  cushions 
Of  my  softly  gliding  boat, 

Leave  the  oars  still  in  the  oar-locks, 

Hnd  alone,  T  idly  float, 

Ulith  a  dark  blue  sea  beneath  me, 

Hnd  above  a  sky  of  blue, 

Ulhile  a  host  of  pleasant  memories 
form  an  all-sufficient  crew. 

One  by  one  there  pass  the  comrades 
that  T  played  with  long  before, 

Hnd  T  see  again  the  faces 

Chat  perhaps  T’ll  meet  no  more. 

Hnd  T  hear  the  merry  laughter 
Of  a  voice  forever  still, 

Or  T  touch  again  loved  fingers— 

€’en  in  dreams  they  bring  a  thrill  > 

Ulhile  across  the  fields  of  dreamland 
Gomes  the  rhythm  and  the  flow 
Of  the  dear  old  song,  “forgotten,” 

Chat  we  sung  so  long  ago? 

Hnd  the  slowly  moving  waters 
Hippie  back  the  soft  refrain 
Co  the  forests,  where  the  echoes 
Sadly  murmur  it  again. 

Carrie  Higer  Conway. 


34 


KAPPA  DELTA  SIGMA  FRATERNITY. 


,  K.  A.E  ,  s^»  c/  y 

U'X/TTj  l  ^  ~\~ 


V.  F.  I.  Alphabet. 


_A  is  f°r  Adam(s),  this  time  the  first  girl. 


B  is  for  Brooke,  with  her  corkscrew  curl. 


O  is  for  Clagett,  with  appetite  great. 


33 


1  )  is  for  Dickins,  who  wishes  a  mate. 


TO  is  for  Every  one  not  mentioned  here. 


TO'  is  for  Fuller,  whose  laughter  is  queer. 


39 


is  for  Gordon,  who  has  many  cases. 


(oT  o ) 

V  Tl  A  H  J 


for  the  Hawkins,  who  are  the  “  twin  graces.” 


I  for  our  Institute,  loved  by  us  all. 


40 


Hi 

I  1 

1  r 
■Ijh 

I, 

1 

1 

l'l  1 

i ! 

1 ; 

i 

,J  is  for  Jones,  as  broad  as  she  ’s  tall. 


4i 


L  is  for  Lutz,  an  infantile  mite. 


M  is  for  Mayer,  so  devoted  to  I^ee. 


42 


JP  is  for  Page,  so  naughty  she ’s  noted. 


43 


is  for  Riggs,  who  gets  there  almost 


^  is  for  Sharp,  who  dances  so  well. 


T  is  for  Tom,  our  post-graduate  swell 

44 


^  T  is  for  us,  who  toil  without  rest. 


45 


is  for  Xmas,  Hurrah  for  the  same  ! 


Y  is  for  Yen,  our  darling  Chinee. 


And  now  with  a  war-whoop,  we  finish  with  tZa. 

46  By  the  S.  L.  S. 


Mr.  (Jett. 


IN  years  to  come  when  we  look  back  at  the  dear  old  V.  F.  I.,  we  will  not 
forget  our  beloved  minister,  Mr.  Jett.  His  earnestness,  disinterested¬ 
ness,  and  hard  labor,  even  when  not  in  condition  for  work,  appeal  to  us 
all.  He  comes  to  see  every  girl  in  school  once,  at  least,  during  the  year  and 
then  he  makes  himself  so  charming  and  agreeable  we  could  hardly  help 
enjoying  his  call.  When  the  bishop  is  coming  for  confirmation  how  our 
minister  extends  his  sympathetic  heart  to  us  and  with  what  loving  interest 
he  comes  to  the  candidates  and  shows  them  the  right  way.  Yet  he  calls  all 
his  trouble  a  pleasure  and  says  he  loves  us  as  his  children  and  feels  with  us 
in  our  lightest  joy  as  well  as  our  deepest  pain.  Truly  it  is  not  often  one 
finds  a  man  like  this.  There  are  many  for  the  mission  field,  many  for 
society,  and  many  for  the  poor  and  needy;  but  few  will  give  their  time  and 
show  the  love  and  devotion  for  simple  schoolgirls  as  does  Mr.  Jett. 

M.  W.  W. 


47 


Mosaics. 


(girls  There  are  all  sorts  of  girls  at  the  Y.  F.  I.  Some  are  tall,  some  small; 

some  big,  some  little;  some  fat,  some  lean;  some  rich,  some  poor;  some 
nice,  some  horrid;  some  smart,  some  silly;  some  well,  some  sick;  some 
light-haired,  some  dark-haired ;  some  black-haired,  some  yellow-haired ; 
some  light-eyed,  some  dark-eyed;  some  strong-eyed,  some  weak-eyed ;  some 
blue-eyed,  some  black-eyed;  some  strong,  some  weak;  some  attractive,  some 
unattractive;  some  studious,  some  not  studious;  some  good,  some  bad; 
some  pretty,  some  ugly;  some  sweet,  some  sour;  and,  if  there  is  any  other 
kind  of  girl  in  the  world,  I  am  sure  she  is  at  the  Institute.  For  such  a  mix¬ 
ture  of  shapes,  sizes,  manners,  characters,  and  looks  as  is  at  the  school  this 
year,  I  never  saw  before  in  all  my  life. 

M.  A.  W. 


limits  Venus  de  Milo  !  The  very  name  makes  one  think  of  the  great  halls  and 

fa  ffliln  galleries  of  the  Louvre,  filled  with  the  glorious  works  of  the  world’s  greatest. 

But  one’s  thoughts  are  brought  down  to  realities  when  one  enters  the  studio 
at  the  Virginia  Female  Institute  and  sees  easels,  tables,  plaster  casts,  and 
studies  in  various  stages  of  completion,  and  then,  at  last,  Venus.  Though 
her  surroundings  are  crude,  and  for  a  background  she  has  a  piece  of  white 
paper  pinned  to  the  wall,  yet  her  own  beauty  surmounts  all,  and  without  any 
effort  she  reigns  supreme.  And  she  serves  the  not  inglorious  purpose  of 
inspiringin  the  hearts  of  the  students  a  higher  ambition — an  ambition  to  sur¬ 
mount  all  difficulties  and  to  put  on  canvas  living  beauty. 

M.  M  W. 


48 


Venus,  the  pride  of  the  studio,  had  been  viewed  and  discussed  by  nearly 
all  the  members  of  the  school  except  Tom.  One  morning,  just  as  the  girls 
had  settled  down  to  their  work,  and  the  studio  was  comparatively  quiet, 
the  door  opened  and  Tom  shuffled  in.  He  went  over  to  the  corner  occupied 
by  the  white  goddess,  and  circled  around  it  with  one  hand  thrust  into  his 
woolly  hair.  lie,  black  and  grimy  with  coal  dust,  was  a  striking  contrast  to 
the  pure  white  figure.  Three  or  four  times  he  moved  around  her,  looking  at 
her  gravely  from  all  points  of  view.  Finally,  he  said  in  a  tone  of  approval, 
“  She’s  got  a  pretty  good  figure  for  sicli  a  small  pusson  !  ”  He  then  walked 
out,  while  the  girls  laughed,  and  even  Venus  herself  seemed  to  smile  in  a 
superior  way  at  his  criticism. 

N.  G.  G. 


I  am  not  speaking  like  Milton  of  a  heavenly  Paradise  lost  to  evil  spirits, 
but  of  an  earthly  Paradise  lost  to  schoolgirls;  for  this  it  indeed  is  !  At  the 
Virginia  Female  Institute  there  is  a  portion  of  the  grounds  sacred  to,  and  only 
to  be  trodden  by  the  feet  of  the  teachers.  From  this  the  girls  are  barred  like 
evil  spirits.  This  place  is  looked  upon  as  one  of  beauty  and  of  rest.  The 
nearest  we  can  get  to  this  heaven  is  by  gazing  upon  it  with  longing  eyes  from 
our  windows,  or  by  passing  through  it  with  one  of  those  honored  beings — a 
teacher.  In  one  corner  there  is  a  fountain  with  a  large  bird  standing  upon  a 
pedestal.  From  the  mouth  of  this  bird  there  flows  forth,  not  “  milk  and 
honey  ”  as  from  the  fountain  described  by  Milton,  but  the  clear  “  wine  of  the 
gods.”  Although  there  is  also  a  fountain  in  our  grounds,  this  one  over  in 
“  Paradise  ”  seems  to  be  doubly  beautiful.  Even  the  trees  are  greener,  and 
the  flowers  bloom  more  brilliantly.  Standing  beside  one  of  the  flower-beds 
is  a  statue  of  Cupid.  It  would  seem  dangerous  to  permit  him  to  stay  so  near 
us,  but  his  arms  and  wings  are  broken.  There  he  stays  in  all  weathers.  I 
often  wonder  if  he  thinks  us  cruel  to  treat  him  so,  when  he  has  no  means  of 
defense.  Altogether,  “  Paradise  ”  is  a  beautiful  and  longed-for  spot,  and 
worthy  to  be  the  home  of  Cupid.  For  what  is  Paradise  without  love  ? 

A.  S.  B. 


uhnu’s 
(Eritiriam 
nf  Urmia 


IJaraitiar 

Hast 


49 


4s 


(jhtr  Jffrutt 
Unitor 


(Hum’s 

Apples 


Perhaps  the  most  interesting  person  connected  with  the  Virginia  Female 
Institute,  and  yet  the  one  least  well  known,  is  the  Italian  fruit  vender,  Mata- 
cia.  His  household  consists  of  an  old  father,  who  can  speak  no  word  of 
English,  a  wife  with  deep,  soulful  eyes,  and  a  troup  of  fat-faced  little  urchins 
who  are  always  jabbering  away  in  their  strange  medley  of  Italian  and 
English. 

These  same  small  urchins  weigh  on  Matacia’s  soul.  He  himself  is  the 
very  essence  of  neatness,  and  so  it  really  hurts  him  to  see  the  little  scamps 
rolling  about  in  their  play-corner,  or  balancing  themselves  on  their  fat  little 
stomachs  as  they  reach  for  a  fig  which  has  strayed  just  into  reach.  One  day  a 
particularly  fat,  particularly  dirty  little  face  appeared  close  by  his  side,  when 
Matacia,  who  couldn’t  stand  it  any  longer,  pointed  an  accusing  finger  at  the 
offender  and  said  sternly,  “  Go  and  wash  your  face  fife  (five)  times.” 

The  wife  is,  perhaps,  the  most  truly  Italian  of  this  Italian  group.  Those 
eyes  of  hers  are  always  glowing  with  a  sad  longing  for  the  warm  shores  and 
blue  skies  of  her  sunny  Italy.  She  has  never  learnt  American  ways,  and 
American  money  is  almost  a  terror  to  her.  Being  told  once  that  she  had 
given  wrong  change,  she  said  humbly,  “Ah,  mees,  excuse  me  this  time.  I 
have  such  an  ache  in  my  head.”  Poor  little  Italian  woman,  our  winter  snows 
seem  very  cruel  to  her  Southern  nature.  “  Ah,  mees,”  she  exclaimed  one  icy 
day,  “  but  this  is  terrible  weather.  I  couldn’t  go  to  market.  I  jist  went 
around  the  corner  and  before  I  could  get  back  I  had  a  fall  down.” 

Soon  the  spring  will  be  here,  and  then  the  stove  will  disappear  from  the 
shop ;  the  children  will  go  from  the  chimney  corner  to  the  gutter ;  Matacia, 
that  lover  of  cleanliness,  will  have  the  warm  sun  flooding  his  spotless  shop, 
and  back  behind,  on  the  little  porch,  his  wife  will  rock  in  the  warm  sunshine, 
and  gazing  into  the  blue  depths  of  our  Virginia  skies  will  softly  croon  some 
Italian  ditty,  while  the  longing  in  her  eyes  will  change  to  an  infinite  sweetness, 
as  she  imagines  herself  back  in  the  old  home  beside  the  great  blue  sea. 

L.  A.  S. 


Unlike  that  fruit  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  Tom’s  apples  have  proved 
the  salvation  of  many  a  V.  F.  I.  daughter  of  Eve.  Perhaps  an  hour  after 
dinner,  when  about  six  of  us  are  gathered  in  one  room,  some  malevolent 


50 


spirit  announces  that  she  is  starving.  There  is  a  unanimous  “  So  am  I,” 
and,  as  usual,  this  discovery  is  followed  by  the  sad  fact  that  there  is  nothing 
to  eat. 

“  I  know  where  there  are  some  crystallized  cherries,”  volunteers  one 
would-be  wit. 

“  Where  ?”  in  an  eager  and  unsuspecting  voice. 

“  At  Barkman’s.” 

Needless  to  say  the  girl  is  ejected  from  the  room,  and  we  sit  in  mournful 
silence  till  some  one  exclaims,  “  Let’s  find  Tom.”  So  we  rush  to  the  eleva¬ 
tor  landing,  and  hang  over  the  railing,  while  six  voices  in  more  or  less  melo¬ 
dious  tones  call  for  Tom.  After  we  have  yelled  ourselves  hoarse,  Edward 
pokes  his  head  out  of  the  steam-house  and  says,  “  Tom ’s  down  town.” 

“  When  ’ll  he  be  back  ?” 

“  Dunno,”  is  the  uncompromising  answer.  At  times  Edward’s  temper 
is  none  of  the  best. 

This  is  final ;  so,  after  having  left  the  most  famished  girl  as  sentinel,  we 
wend  our  way  back  to  the  room,  and  try  to  possess  our  souls  in  patience. 
Half  an  hour  drags  by,  and  one  of  the  girls  bitterly  observes  that  she  has 
read  that  in  times  of  necessity  men  have  eaten  shoe-leather.  She  is  politely 
suppressed,  and  just  at  that  minute  enters  the  sentinel,  dragging  in  her  wake 
Tom  and  the  longed-for  basket  of  apples.  There  is  an  excited  scramble,  and 
five  seconds  later  each  girl  has  an  apple  in  her  hand,  and  Tom  is  calling 
“  Appul8  ?  ”  at  the  next  door.  C.  K.  C. 


Great  was  our  surprise  and  delight  to  see  coming  into  the  dining-room, 
especially  as  it  was  Sunday,  that  rare  personage,  a  tall,  handsome  young  man, 
with  dark  hair  and  broad  shoulders.  As  he  walked  slowly  in  without  the 
slightest  embarrassment,  every  head  was  turned  in  his  direction,  and,  as  if  by 
magic,  more  than  fifty  pairs  of  eyes  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment.  For  a  man 
at  the  V.  F.  I.,  unless  Mr.  Jett,  Mr.  Webb,  or  Mr  Minor  drops  in,  is  such  an 
unusual  and  important  event  as  to  produce  great  excitement  and  cause  much 
fun  for  the  girls.  As  he  took  his  seat  there  was  silence,  but  it  lasted  only  for 
a  moment.  The  girls  then  all  began  talking  at  once,  and,  if  at  first  he  was 


©Ijr  Hiatt  nf  a 
Matt  tn  tljr 
H.  3.  31. 


5i 


®ltr  iftustr 
iiall 


iCnttPU 

Signs 


a  little  ill  at  ease,  lie  did  not  feel  so  twenty  minutes  later.  When  the 
honored  guest  came  up  the  stairs,  he  was  met  by  a  regiment  of  girls,  three 
layers  deep,  each  one  standing  as  a  “  stone  wall,”  and  vowing  she  should  be 
introduced  to  him.  One  girl  said,  as  she  was  presented,  “  I  am  glad  to  meet 

you,  Miss  W - .”  But  usually  no  such  embarrassment  was  shown. 

S.  R.  S. 


Walking  on  the  terrace  one  afternoon,  I  was  both  surprised  and 
annoyed  by  the  discordant  sounds  that  issued  from  the  Music  Hall  and 
grated  harshly  on  my  ears.  Ho  doubt  the  sound-waves  from  each  window 
produced  a  tune  of  their  own,  but,  when  ten  or  twelve  melodies  were  executed 
at  the  same  moment,  the  result  was  startling.  The  din  was  worse  than  an 
ill-conducted  orchestra  out  of  time.  Amidst  the  intricate  hubbub  could  be 
distinguished  the  soft,  tender  strains  of  the  “  Reverie,”  or  the  rippling  music 
of  the  “  Brook,”  noisily  accompanied  by  scales  and  exercises  in  every  key. 
Once  in  a  while,  a  lively  rag-time  could  be  heard,  until  drowned  by  the 
sonorous  “  a-e-i-o-u’s  ”  of  some  enthusiastic  vocal  student.  Gradually  the 
confusion  subsided,  and,  finally,  only  one  piano  was  left  playing.  In  the 
beautiful  music  tloating  toward  me,  I  recognized  the  “  Recollections  of 
Home  ”  with  a  refrain  from  that  familiar  song,  “  Home,  Sweet  Home.”  No 
wonder  the  other  pianos  paused,  as  the  hearts  of  the  players  unconsciously 
drifted  to  that  dearest  spot  on  earth. 

J.  C.  Y. 


Any  day  during  Lent,  if  you  happen  to  be  walking  down  one  of  the 
halls  of  the  Y.  F.  I.,  you  will  see  numerous  signs  tacked  up  everywhere; 
one  telling  how  some  great  French  hairdresser  will  fix  hair  for  twenty-five 
cents ;  or  others  telling  how  a  competent  young  lady  will  sew  on  buttons ; 
and  how  an  elderly  matron  will  make  collarettes  for  ten  cents;  and,  yet  again, 
that  a  certain  young  damsel  will  sell  candy  and  stuffed  eggs  made  to  order ; 
or  that  one  will,  if  sufficiently  urged,  make  up  beds  for  five  or  ten  cents.  All 
this  is  done  for  our  Easter  ottering,  and  though  our  work  is  not  of  the  high¬ 
est  order,  I  am  sure  our  purpose  is.  M.  II.  C. 


52 


Saturday  morning,  armed  with  a  ten-cent  piece,  and  a  large  amount  of 
patience,  I  descend  into  the  lower  regions  of  the  V.  F.  I.,  and  call  for  Ina,  our 
little  maid  of  all  work.  After  ten  minutes,  during  which  time  Lizzie,  Mattie, 
Maggie,  Torn,  Daisy,  and  all  the  other  inmates  of  the  kitchen  have  been  sent 
in  search  of  her,  Ina  herself  rises  from  a  dim  corner  and  comes  forward  with 
the  “  Story  of  Sarah  Crewe  ”  clasped  tightly  in  one  hand.  After  an  expendi¬ 
ture  of  much  eloquence,  I  convince  her  that  the  dime  and  my  undying  good¬ 
will  are  hers,  if  she  will  bring  me  some  hot  water  directly  after  dinner.  She 
promises,  and  I  go  into  study  hall  with  a  mind  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 
Alas,  for  human  credulity  !  After  dinner  I  decline  an  invitation  to  a  feast, 
and  rush  up-stairs,  to  find  no  water.  With  superhuman  patience  I  read  a 
book  for  fifteen  minutes,  and  then  I  descend  in  wrath.  “  Where  is  my 
water  ?  ”  I  demand  of  Ina. 

“  ’T  ain’t  hot  yet,”  replies  that  meek-looking  individual,  with  one  eye  on 
“  Sarah  Crewe.” 

This  is  repeated  at  intervals  for  the  next  two  hours,  until  exhausted 
patience  gives  way,  and  I  fairly  shout,  “  When  will  it  be  hot  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  in  a  little  while,”  says  Ina,  imperturbably.  “  You  see,  Miss  Carrie, 

there  ain’t  no  fire  in  the  stove  yet,  and  so - ” 

But  as  “Aunt  Minervy  Ann  ”  says,  “this  is  the  last  splinter  that  makes 
the  load  too  heavy,  ’  and  with  a  groan,  I  rush  to  my  room,  there  to  ensconce 
myself  behind  a  “  No  Ad,”  and  read  treatises  on  self-control  until  supper-time, 
when  I  go  slowly  down-stairs,  a  sadder  but  an  infinitely  wiser  girl. 

C.  K.  C. 


The  door-bell  rings  and  Ina,  our  little  maid  of  all  work,  lays  aside  her 
treasures  which  consist  of  a  soiled  doll  dress  and  a  worn  elocution  book, 
and  opens  the  door.  To  her  surprise  and  disgust  half  a  dozen  Baldwin  girls 
rush  in,  each  giving  her  a  card  and  charging  her  to  find  “  Miss  Danenhower,” 
or  “  Miss  Lanier,”  which  last  name  she  confounds  with  “  Miss  Lydia.” 
While  Ina  in  her  checked  gingham  dress  and  white,  stiffly  starched  apron,  is 
slowly  wandering  from  hall  to  hall,  looking  for  and  finding  every  girl  except 
the  one  wanted,  the  impatient  girls  in  the  drawing-room  are  becoming  very 


Uasljuui 

iiatr 


Ultra 

Utattora 

(Call 


53 


tired  of  admiring  the  room  and  counting  the  figures  upon  the  wall.  At  last 
the  long-looked-for  girl  is  found  and  Ina  is  charged  to  say,  “  I’ll  be  down  in 
a  moment.”  The  girl  then  begins  to  dress.  She  brushes  her  hair  and  puts  it 
up  at  least  a  dozen  times  before  it  suits  her  fancy,  and  finally  rushes  down  to 
the  parlor  and  spends  the  next  five  minutes  making  apologies  for  her  tardi¬ 
ness.  Before  the  other  girls  who  have  been  asked  for  can  make  their  appear¬ 
ance  the  door-bell  again  rings  and  the  disappointed  Baldwin  girls  know  that 
a  teacher  has  come  to  take  them  away.  Ina,  relieved  other  duty,  curls  up  in 
her  corner  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  reads  the  comic  supplement  of  the  New 
York  Journal  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

S.  R.  S. 


A 


54 


The  ^Red  Hills  of  Piedmont. 


When  griefs  befall,  and  sorrows  throng 
About  the  heart  of  care  ; 

When  Hope  forgets  to  sing  her  song, 

And  Love  becomes  a  prayer; — 

Down  the  long  vista  of  the  years, 

Beyond  life’s  woes  and  ills, 

They  shine  through  smiles  that  dim  my  tears, — 
The  crimson  Piedmont  Hills. 

On  them  no  mark  of  dull  decay 

Hath  laid  its  shadowing  blight. 

In  the  fair  dawn  of  Youth’s  gay  day 
They  gleam  with  fadeless  light. 

For  Life  was  young  and  Love  was  new 
Upon  that  crimson  loam — 

Land  of  the  faithful  and  the  true  ! 

The  happy  hills  of  home. 

Armistead  C.  Gordon. 


55 


Aurora’5  (greeting 


Lo,  from  the  East  Aurora  comes  tipping, 
Dragging  her  radiant  garments  long ; 

Tripping,  dripping 
The  liquid  sunbeams  everywhere. 

With  dainty  finger-tips  and  fair 
She  gathers  up  her  golden  hair 
Bound  with  the  Morning  Glory. 

She  holds  a  lap  brimful  of  sunbeams, 
Liquid  sunbeams, 

While  one  by  one  they  melt  as  dreams — 
Sunbeams  as  dreams — 

And  flood  the  earth  with  glorious  light, 
While  swiftly  drives  the  dusky  night 
Away,  far  down  and  out  of  sight. 

With  laughing  eye  she  wakes  the  buds 
Low-drooped  with  heavy  dew, 

And  laughs  to  scorn  the  weighty  lids 
Of  poppies — crimson  hue — 

Drowsy,  sleep-laden  poppies  of  crimson  h 
She  rings  the  little  heather-bell 
Of  purple  true,  near  kin  to  blue, 

And  whispers  soft  with  some,  to  tell 
His  brother  bell  near-by  to  swell 
The  music  of  the  chime. 

Sweet  heather-bells !  Blue  bells, 

Sweet  bells — faint,  rustling  bells. 


The  little  blades  peep  up  to  hear 
What  mean  those  bells,  sweet  bells. 

Warm  kissed  by  sunshine  soft,  they  ring, 

They  sing.  ’T  is  sunshine  makes  them  sing. 

She  knocks  at  every  door,  close  shut  with  bar, 

Nor  waits  the  opening,  but  sends  out  afar 

One  little  ray  of  piercing  light,  through  blinds  ajar, 

Kissing,  but  lightly,  lids  close  shut  of  children  sleeping, 

Softly  sleeping,  dreaming,  sleeping. 

They  answer  back  by  dimpled  smiling, 

And  dream  again  of  angels  kissing 
Their  finger-tips  and  rosy  lips. 

When  all  the  work  is  done, 

The  toiling  and  adorning, 

And  every  flower  caressed  and  kissed 
Good  morning, 

The  song-birds  sing  their  sunshine  greeting, 

Their  silvery  homage  to  the  dawn — 

Now  fleeting,  fast  fleeting — 

To  the  purple  dawn  their  greeting. 

Aurora’s  mission ’s  done, 

And  mischief  ’hind  the  tired  lids 
Is  tired  too — is  weary  run — 

And  on  her  radiant,  billowy  couch  she  falls 
And  sleeps  and  dreams  of  mischief  more, 

While  gathering  roses  for  the  next  fair  day, 

Bright  day,  filled  with  pink  dreams, 

With  roseate  sunbeams — 

She  sleeps  ’mid  dreams  and  sunbeams. 

Maria  Pendleton  Duvai 


57 


How  Time  Flies 


6.30  A.  M. 


The  hardest  struggle  of  the  whole  day  conies  in  the  morning  when  I 
have  to  get  up.  It  seems  as  if  I  have  hardly  launched  myself  into  dream¬ 
land,  when  I  hear  the  dismal  tolling  of  the  rising-bell.  I  thrust  my  thermo- 
metrical  nose  from  beneath  the  cover  to  test  the  temperature.  “  Awfully 
cold,”  says  that  sensitive  organ,  and  I  cover  up  again  to  wait  until  the  room 
gets  warmer.  But  I  enjoy  that  most  delightful  of  all  delightful  things,  the 
half-conscious  early  morning  nap  but  a  short  time,  when  doleful  sounds 
from  every  direction  inform  me  that  this  energetic  old  building  is  arousing 
from  its  slumber,  and,  aided  by  the  timely  assistance  of  my  roommate,  I,  at 
last,  roll  out,  and  seat  myself  on  the  side  of  the  bed  for  a  drowsy  soliloquy  on 
the  “  Troubles  of  Dressing.”  But  soon  my  interest  begins  to  lag,  and  my 
head  begins  to  nod,  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  find  myself  tumbling  on  the  floor. 
I  grab  for  my  stockings,  and  begin  to  dress.  When  about  half-way  through, 
the  breakfast-bell  rings,  and  then  things  fly  around  the  room  like  telegraph- 
posts  past  a  car  window.  At  last  I  finish,  and  like  a  guilty  creature  I  rush 
through  the  deserted  halls  and  towards  the  dining-room,  mentally  vowing 
never  to  sleep  so  late  again. 

S.  F.  II. 


58 


11.13  A.  M. 


At  the  first  tap  of  the  bell  every  one  is  eager  to  escape  from  class.  A 
bee-line  is  taken  down-stairs  where  Miss  Hattie  has  placed  on  the  table  a 
waiter,  containing  apples,  cakes,  or  something  on  the  order  of  lunch.  After 
what  seems  an  age,  wedging  yourself  nearer  and  nearer,  you  dive  your  hand 
down  among  a  sea  of  others  and  just  when  you  think  you  have  been  vic¬ 
torious,  the  longed-for  cake  is  snatched  out  of  your  grasp  and  you  are  pushed 
again  to  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd.  Then  comes  the  tug  of  war  in  getting 
up-stairs  again.  There  are  girls  as  thick  as  hops,  some  trying  to  get  up-stairs, 
others  trying  to  get  down.  At  last,  out  of  breath  you  reach  the  top  step  and 
proceed  on  your  way,  trying  to  satisfy  your  ravenous  appetite  with  just 
enough  to  make  you  want  some  more.  M.  C.  M. 


1.13  P.  M. 

Quarter  past  one  !  Only  thirty  minutes  more  and  school  will  be  out. 
Oh,  will  this  half  never  go  ?  I  think  I  shall  try  to  get  my  algebra.  Ho,  my 
poor  brain  is  too  tired  to  work  problems !  I  ’ll  study  my  history.  I  read  two 
lines  over  six  times  and  haven’t  an  idea  what  it’s  all  about,  so  I  give  up  study¬ 
ing  as  a  had  job.  There  is  a  magazine  on  another  girl’s  desk.  That  is  just 
it — I  shall  read  a  story.  It  is  very  interesting,  and  I  have  just  gotten  to  where 
the  hero  proposes  to  the  heroine,  when  I  hear  some  one  cough  violently,  look 
up,  and  have  the  magazine  taken  from  me.  Will  that  bell  never  ring  ?  First, 
I  count  the  desks,  then  I  think,  “  Suppose  there  will  be  so  many  girls  next 
year  that  two  will  have  to  sit  in  the  same  seat ;  it  will  be  so  uncomfortable.” 
There  is  the  bell !  Why,  where  is  Miss  F.?  Oh,  there  she  is.  She  is  stop¬ 
ping  to  speak  to  some  girl.  I  wonder  if  she  knows  that  I  have  dinner  at  two 
o’clock?  She  has  called  my  name — don’t  see  why  I  can’t  go.  But  no,  I 
must  wait  until  she  finishes.  She  has  stopped  again.  Will  she  never  get 
through  that  long  list !  At  last,  she  has  come  to  the  end.  I  glance  at  the 
clock — six  minutes  to  get  home.  I  walk  as  fast  as  I  can,  reach  home,  find 
they  had  dinner  a  little  earlier,  and  mine  is  all  cold  !  M.  H.  A. 


59 


9:13  P.  M. 


When  the  nine-fifteen  hell  rings  there  is  a  great  rush.  Every  one  feels 
like  making  all  the  fuss  she  can,  because  she  has  been  shut  up  in  study  hall 
for  two  hours.  Every  girl  wants  to  tell  every  other  girl  in  the  house  good¬ 
night,  and  there  is  only  fifteen  minutes  to  do  it  in.  They  are  rushing  from 
one  room  to  another  when  the  nine-twenty-five  bell  rings ;  the  hubbub  grows 
more  intense.  In  five  more  minutes  you  hear  the  bell  lifted  from  the  office 
table ;  the  noise  is  still  greater.  Another  second,  and  the  bell  rings  long  and 
loud.  Everything  is  silent;  every  girl  is  in  her  room,  or  fifteen  lines  of 
poetrv  stares  her  in  the  face. 

D.  L.  D. 


10.13  Easter  jSunday. 

At  10.15  on  Easter  morning  the  front  doors  of  the  stately  old  Institute 
were  thrown  open  wide  and  a  column  of  girls  came  forth,  and,  carefully  hold¬ 
ing  up  their  trains,  descended  the  steps,  crossed  the  street,  and  reverently 
entered  the  church,  all  the  while  conscious  of  the  looks  of  admiration  cast 
upon  them  by  Staunton’s  most  renowned  suitors.  They  were  arrayed  all  in 
celestial  white,  and  the  sun  shining  on  their  gowns  made  them  dazzling  to 
such  a  degree  that  mortal  eye  could  not  look  at  them  without  squinting. 
The  hats  of  these  radiant  maidens  were  large  and  very  stiff,  and  as  they  were 
not  ravishingly  becoming  to  all,  they  were  bent  in  sundry  positions,  and  con¬ 
sequently  each  individual  had  her  headgear  arranged  at  an  angle  totally 
different  from  all  the  rest.  As  I  said,  these  hats  were  made  of  stiff'  and  un- 
pliable  straw  and  were  wont  to  return  to  their  former  position  with  a  sound 
like  the  popping  of  a  cork,  so  occasionally  there  were  some  distressed  looks 
on  the  faces  of  girls  who  knew  that  their  hats  were  about  to  pop.  Nothing 
else  of  importance  occurred  until  the  service  was  over,  and  they  were  about 
to  depart  as  elegantly  as  they  came  in.  Then  they  learned  that  it  was  rain¬ 
ing.  Alas,  for  Easter  toilettes!  They  gazed  with  horror  on  the  wide  expanse 
of  street,  pavement,  and  steps  that  separated  them  from  shelter.  Then  with 


60 


one  accord  they  lifted  their  skirts  (not  in  pride  and  self-satisfaction  this  time) 
and  dashed  forward  amid  the  smiles  of  pity — or  was  it  derision  ? — of  the 
snitors. 

A.  W. 


13.30  P*  M.  $unday. 

Sunday  afternoon  is  the  pleasantest  part  of  the  week  at  the  V.  F.  I. 
After  a  delicious  dinner,  we  go  out  on  the  terrace  and  walk  and  talk  until  the 
first  bell  for  “  Meditation  ”  rings.  Then  we  go  up-stairs  on  our  different 
halls  and  stand  at  our  doors  and  tell  all  who  pass  good-bye  for  a  while,  and 
wait  until  the  first  tingle  of  the  second  bell,  at  which  we  jump  into  our  rooms 
and  shut  the  doors.  There  is  usually  quite  a  commotion  at  this  time,  but,  by 
the  time  this  bell  has  stopped  ringing,  every  one  of  us  is  in  her  room  and  the 
house  could  hardly  be  recognized  as  the  same.  Such  a  change  has  taken 
place  in  the  last  few  minutes  ;  all  the  noise  is  hushed  into  a  perfect  calm  which 
continues  for  two  hours  and  a  half,  broken  now  and  then,  maybe,  by  a  girl 
who  forgets  herself  and  laughs  too  loud.  What  a  blessing  “  Meditation  ”  is 
to  us  in  this  large  school.  For  a  few  hours  we  may  sit  and  talk  peaceably 
with  our  roommates,  think  if  we  choose,  and  write  home  intelligible  letters 
which  we  could  never  do  otherwise.  As  soon  as  the  next  bell  begins  to  ring 
the  girls  leave  their  rooms,  and,  beginning  to  grow  restless  by  now,  we  are 
glad  to  see  each  other  again  and  to  play  together;  for  such  we  do  almost 
until  the  supper  bell  rings.  You  outsiders  may  not  be  able  to  believe  that 
the  dignified  young  ladies  you  see  on  walk  have  any  playful  ideas,  but  one 
can  not  always  judge  by  outward  appearances. 


M.  W.  W. 


Ifn  the  ftwiltobt. 


Do  pou  see  tbat  one  little  cloub  up  tbere 

Be  It  glows  anb  floats  from  out  of  tbe  west? 

Do  pou  tbinft  it  is  Going  so  bigb  in  tbe  air 
Ho  sleep  on  tbe  /lbotber=Sfrp’s  breast? 

Us  it  glowing  witb  jop,  sucb  as  we  Down  bere 
Ibave  never  so  mucb  as  guess’b? 

Do  pou  see  tbat  first  little  shining  star? 

Ut  bas  sbone  so  long  at  ntgbt  up  tbere ! 

Do  pou  tbinft  it  sees  wbere  tbe  angels  are, 

Bnb  bears  tbeir  evening  praper? 

Us  it  tbeti  tbe  glorp  tbat  falls  on  its  face 
jFroni  Ibeaven  tbat  sbines  so  fair? 

ilfoaria  Xee  ©oobwin. 


62 


WINTER. 


5s 


Bessie  Ivirby 
Cecilia  Bratton 
Sallie  Williams 
Jean  Wilcox 

IIallie  Read  (Sub) 


“Hawk,s.” 


Carrie  Hoy  Augusta  Willey 

Frances  Mapp  Anna  McKinney 

Katharine  Wiieelock  Susan  Adams 

Ethel  Sinnott  Kate  Pretlow  (Sub) 

Cora  Lutz  (Sub)  Lydia  Lee  (Umpire) 


66 


THE  HAWKS  BASKETBALL  TEAM. 


No.  1  Team. 


Annie  C.  Berkeley 
Carrie  Conway 
Frances  Mayer 
Frances  Page 

Augusta  Bur  well 
Elise  Wilson 


Virginia  Lee 
Lelia  Blair 

Nellie  Gordon 
Belle  Howard 
Louise  Jones 

Lydia  Lee  (Umpire) 


70 


BASKETBALL  TEAM,  No.  i. 


Tennis  Gl\ib. 


Nellie  Minor 
Carrie  Hoy 

Sallie  Williams 
Belle  Howard 
Cora  Lutz 


Annie  C.  Berkeley 
Lelia  Blair 

Margaret  Moore 
Susan  Adams 

Frances  Page 


Nellie  Gordon 


Augusta  Burwell 


73 


German  Glub. 


Lydia  Lee . President 


Frances  Mayer  Frances  Danenhower 

Frances  Mapp  Carrie  Conway  Lelia  Blair 

Augusta  Willey  Anne  Freeman 

Katharine  Wiieelock  Louise  Jones  Margaretta  Wise 

Helen  Talbott  Virginia  Lee 

Jennie  Minge  Annie  C.  Berkeley  Cora  Lutz 

Elsie  Danenhower  Kate  Pretlow 

ITallie  Read  Anna  Alyey  Susan  Adams 

Isabel  Howard  Jean  Wilcox 

Mary  Wilcox  Caroline  Hoy  Anna  McKinney 

Sallie  Williams  Nellie  Gordon 

Frances  Page  Jennie  Mapp  Elise  Wilson  Bessie  Kirby 


74 


Bessie  Kirby  Carrie  Conway 

M  ARGARETTA  WlSE  LOUISE  JONES 

Anne  Freeman  Lillian  Lanier 

Katharine  Wheelock 

Gabrielle  Layielle  Annie  C.  Berkeley 

Lelia  Blair  Kate  Pretlow 


75 


Lydia  Lee 


Susan  Adams 


Fabler  by  Ihe  Fair 


The  Woman  Who  Was  Behind  the  Times. 


There  was  Once  a  Modern  Society  Belle  who  believed  that  where  there  ’s 
a  Will  there ’s  a  Way,  and  in  the  same  Remote  Town  dwelt  a  Timid  Dove, 
who  in  early  youth  had  been  instructed  concerning  the  Tale  of  the  Hare  and 
the  Tortoise.  At  last,  having  arrived  at  years  of  Discretion,  the  Latter  Cast 
about  How  to  put  the  Theory  into  Practice.  At  that  Moment  there  Arrived 
upon  the  Scene  the  Desirable  Man  with  the  Desirable  Millions,  and  at  once 
the  Modern  Society  Belle  pursued  the  Desirable  Man  as  if  he  were  her  law¬ 
ful  Prey. 

But  the  Timid  Dove  was  Wiser,  and  While  Combing  out  her  Golden 
Hair,  she  communed  with  1  Herself  in  the  Mirror,  thus:  “It  is  a  Known 
Fact  that  a  Man  wants  what  it  is  Hard  to  get.  Therefore,  I  will  not  throw 
Myself  at  his  Head,  as  that  Other  Woman  is  doing,  but  will  be  Modest  and 
Retiring  and  will  Retreat  when  he  Advances.” 

Alas,  for  the  Timid  Dove,  the  Desirable  Man  forgot  to  advance,  but  in 
One  Week  from  the  Aforesaid  Speech,  He  had  Promised  to  Love,  Honor, 
and  Obey  the  Modern  Society  Belle. 

Which  teaches  us  that  though  the  Race  is  not  always  to  the  Swift,  it 
generally  is. 

C.  K.  Conway. 


The  Maiden  Who  Found  Ihe  Futility  of  Proverbs. 


The  trouble  all  began  by  my  standing  upon  a  chair  to  find  something  in 
the  wardrobe.  Standing  upon  a  chair  is  a  perfectly  harmless  thing.  But 
while  in  that  position  I  chanced  to  look  at  Her,  then  the  Evil  One  suggested 
an  idea  to  me.  I  sang  out,  “  Now,  I  can  look  down  upon  you .”  The  fact 


77 


was  so  evident  that  she  said  nothing.  The  Evil  One  then  suggested  an  idea 
to  Her.  She  mounted  upon  the  bureau.  As  I  could  no  longer  look  down 
upon  Her  I  left  the  chair  for  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and,  after  falling  off  several 
times,  managed,  by  clinging  desperately  to  the  aforesaid  chair,  to  keep  my 
balance.  We  were  both  now  equal,  so  contented  ourselves  with  shrieking  at 
each  other. 

This  caused  a  teacher  to  appear.  We  heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
for  a  moment  thought  of  holding  our  ground,  but  decided  that  if  it  was  a 
teacher,  it  would  be  safer  and  decided!  v  more  dignified  to  have  a  firm  foun- 
dation.  She  jumped  down  from  the  bureau  and  I  from  the  bed.  I,  being 
young,  believed  in  proverbs,  especially  “  He  who  Fights  and  Runs  Away, 
will  Live  to  Fight  Another  Hay.”  Consequently  I  retreated  behind  the  ward¬ 
robe.  Therefore,  she  was  the  only  thing  visible  when  the  teacher  came  in. 
But  the  teacher  was  one  of  those  beings  blessed  with  more  than  Mortal  Sight. 
So  she  was  quite  aide  to  see  through  a  wardrobe. 

She  commanded  in  a  stern  voice,  “  Come  forth.”  Which  being  the  only 
thing  left  for  me  to  do,  I  did. 

Which  shows  that  Discretion  is  not  always  the  better  part  of  valor. 

L.  S.  Blair. 


The  Maiden  Who  L,ost  Her  Opportunity. 


Once  a  Fair  Maiden  lost  her  Way  in  a  Wood,  and  her  Attempts  to  find 
the  Path  Out  only  Led  her  Further  into  the  Forest.  At  Last,  when  She  was 
in  Desprir,  She  saw  a  Handsome  Youth  Approaching.  “  Ah  !  ”  thought  She, 
“  He  must  be  a  Prince  Who,  when  He  sees  Me,  will  Instantly  Love  Me,  and 
Take  Me  to  his  Kingdom,  where  We  will  live  Happy  Ever  after.  Now  I  will 
Sit  here,  and  not  Speak.  Then  He  will  Think  I  am  Like  the  Princess  in  the 
Story  Book  and  Love  Me  all  the  More.” 

So  the  Maiden  Sat  Down,  and  the  Youth  Approached  Nearer.  But, 
Alas  for  the  Maiden’s  Hopes,  He  Passed  By  and  did  not  See  Her,  For  He 


78 


was  Only  a  Modern  College  Man,  Engaged  in  Deep  Thought  over  a  Coining 
Football  Game. 

Which  teaches  us  that  it  is  Sometimes  Better  to  Hello  while  You  are  In 
the  Woods. 

L.  Eakle. 


The  Boy  Who  Had  a  ^Rairvbow  Theory. 


There  was  once  an  Enterprising  Boy.  One  day  he  was  reading  Grimm’s 
Fairy  Tales  and  found  there  the  Great  Secret  of  Wealth,  namely,  that  at  the 
End  of  the  Rainbow  he  would  find  the  Pot  of  Gold.  lie  instantly  became 
very  desir  >us  of  gaining  the  Pot  of  Gold  and  thus  becoming  a  Mr.  Carnegie 
or  a  Mr.  Vanderbilt.  The  very  Next  Day  there  was  the  Thunder-Storm  and 
the  Rainbow.  The  Enterprising  Boy  at  once  packed  his  Dress  Sait  case  and 
started  off.  lie  walked  One  Hundred  miles  and  followed  Seventy  Different 
Rainbows,  and,  at  last,  he  saw  the  End  of  the  Seventy-First  on  a  Precipice  just 
in  front  of  him.  So  he  climbed  the  Mountain  and  reached  over  the  Edge, 
but  he  lost  his  Balance  and  fell  down  Twenty  Thousand  Feet,  and  his  Dress 
Suit  case  with  him;  and  to  This  Day  that  is  all  that  is  known  of  the  Enter¬ 
prising  Boy. 

This  teaches  that  Where  there  is  a  Will  there  is  Not  always  a  Way. 

A.  II.  Patrick. 


The  ^Poet  Who  Would  Not  Tell  a  L,ie. 


There  was  Once  an  Individual,  Who  Believed  that  the  Truth,  the 
Whole  Truth,  and  Nothing  but  the  Truth  is  Necessary  at  All  Times.  He 
was  a  Poet,  which  partly  accounts  for  this  Strange  View,  and  He  Further 
Believed  that  he  had  been  Expressly  Created  to  Astonish  the  World.  The 
World,  on  the  Contrary,  seemed  Unaware  of  his  Existence. 


79 


Finally,  when  his  Masterpiece,  “The  Simple  Story  of  a  Sinless  Soul,” 
had  for  the  Fiftieth  Time  been  Rejected  by  the  Editor,  the  Poet,  seized 
with  a  Fit  of  Melancholy  Madness,  cried,  “  The  Time  has  come  !  I  am 
determined  to  kill  either  Myself  or  the  Editor.”  As  he  stood  on  the  Curb- 
Stone,  Trying  to  Decide  which  Plan  would  be  Best,  a  Runaway  Team  came 
Down  the  Street. 

The  Poet  had  often  Sung  of  Heroic  Deeds  in  Heroic  Couplets,  and  with 
a  Bravery  Equal  to  the  Occasion,  He  seized  the  Opportunity  by  Seizing  the 
Bits  of  the  Horses,  thereby  checking  them  in  their  Mad  Career.  From  the 
Vehicle  was  Extricated  a  shrieking  Elderly  Maiden,  Who  Instantly  Fainted, 
but  Revived  Sufficiently  to  Invite  Her  Deliverer  to  Call  that  Evening 
that  she  might  Express  her  Gratitude  in  Fitting  Terms. 

Having  Learned  from  a  Disinterested  Friend  that  the  Elderly  Maiden 
was  as  Rich  in  Capital  as  She  was  in  Years,  the  Poet  pawned  his  Fountain 
Pen,  purchased  some  “  American  Beauties”  with  the  Proceeds,  and  Wended 
his  Way  to  the  Domicile  of  the  Elderly  Maiden.  There  He  was  Received 
with  such  Graciousness  that  after  a  few  Preliminary  Remarks  on  the  Weather, 
he  laid  Ilimself  and  all  his  Possessions  at  her  feet. 

She,  with  a  Shy  Blush,  Coyly  Asked :  “  Before  I  answer  your  Pas¬ 

sionate  Declaration,  Tell  me  One  Thing:  Do  you  Find  in  me  the  Supreme 
Beauty  of  Woman  ?  ” 

“  Alas,”  Replied  the  Poet,  “I  can  not  Tell  a  Lie.  You  have  a  Good 
Heart,  but  you  are  Far  from  a  Beauty  !  ” 

Then  with  a  Terrible  Cry,  the  Elderly  Maiden  flung  the  Flowers  in  his 
Face,  and  Bade  the  Footman  Show  Him  the  Door. 

Which  Teaches  us  that  “  Honesty  is  not  Always  the  Best  Policy.” 

C.  K.  Conway. 


The  Maiderv  Who  Was  Too  Hasty. 


Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  Maiden  whose  Youthful  Suitor,  with 
Many  Promises  of  His  Return,  had  left  Her  to  Seek  His  Fortune.  She  waited 
and  waited  for  Many  Long  Years,  but  He  did  not  Come  Back,  and,  finally, 
She  began  to  lose  Hope.  Visions  of  Tombstone  Inscriptions  with  the  Much 


80 


Dreaded  “  Miss”  Attached  to  Her  Name  began  to  Haunt  Her  Dreams,  and 
She  began  to  Look  Around  for  Some  Chance  to  Change  the  Tide  of  Events. 
About  tliis  time  there  appeared  on  the  Scene  a  Lonely  Man  who,  after  a  Short 
Acquaintance  with  the  Lonely  Spinster,  decided  to  Increase  His  Earthly 
Possessions  by  Marrying  Her,  and  thus  obtaining  Possession  of  the  Relics  of 
a  Fast  Disappearing  Fortune.  The  Wedding  took  Place,  but  the  Next  Day 
the  Loyal  Suitor  Returned  with  His  Long-Sought-for  Wealth  to  Claim  His 
Bride.  Alas,  for  the  Maiden  ! 

This  Fable  teaches  Us,  ’t  is  Sometimes  Best  to  put  off  till  To-morrow 
What  Can  be  done  To-day. 

S.  F.  Higginbotham. 


The  Man  Who  Never  Got  Enough. 


Once  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  Greedy  Boy,  who  could  never  get  Enough 
of  the  Delectable  Stuff  called  Candy.  He  ate  and  ate  for  many  long  years, 
till  at  Last  came  the  Time  when  the  Former  Joy  of  Existence  lost  All  Charm 
for  him. 

He  had  arrived  at  the  Stage  when  Knickerbockers  become  Full-grown 
Trousers  and  he  Stood  at  the  Corner  and  rattled  the  dimes  in  his  Pockets, 
and  the  Confectioner  put  out  his  most  Tempting  Displays,  but  they  made  no 
Impression  on  the  Youth  whose  Heart  was  now  set  on  Higher  Things.  He 
longed,  and  longed  for  Certain  Appurtenances  which  were  the  Only  Things 
needed  to  make  Him  a  Man. 

Soon  the  Wished-for  Time  came,  and  this  Man,  sitting  in  his  office, 
turned  his  Back  on  All  his  Manly  Belongings,  and  stared  out  of  the  Window, 
and  Sighed  and  Sighed  for  a  Brown-eyed  Lass. 

Time  flies;  and  now  the  Elderly  Man  walks  Sadly  down  the  Street,  and 
casts  Envious  Glances  at  the  Happy  Children  whom  He  passes.  He ’s  tired  of 
Life,  and  tired  of  Wife,  and  tired  of  Everything  under  the  Sun. 

Which  All  goes  to  Show  that  a  Man  never  knows  What  He  doesn’t  want 
until  He  gets  It. 

S.  F.  Higginbotham. 


8i 


6s 


i  6 


No  Ad.” 


TIIE  pesky  little  “  No  Ad.”  It  ’s  always  on  the  door  I  want  most  to  enter- 
If  a  girl  has  a  box  of  nice,  good  things  to  eat,  I  find  I  love  that  girl, 
have  always  loved  her;  and  it  is  my  great  pleasure  to  make  her  a  call. 
It  has  been  so  long  since  I  ve  done  so,  that  I  can  not  put  it  otf  another  minute. 
I  hurry  down  the  hall;  but,  alas!  there ’s  a  “No  Ad.”  on  the  door.  That ’s 
just  the  way.  Whenever  I  want  to  visit  mv  friends,  a  “No  Ad.”  stares  me 
in  the  face.  If  I  go  to  see  Bessie,  there ’s  a  “  No  Ad.”  on  the  door.  I  saunter 
down  the  hall  to  Lucy’s  room,  only  to  find  a  large  blank  sheet  of  paper  care¬ 
lessly  hung  on  a  tack;  but  I  know  it  means  “No  Ad.”  Sometimes  an  old 
newspaper  greets  me  as  I  rush  up  to  a  door,  but  it,  too,  says  very  plainly,  “  No 
Ad.”  On  Friday  it ’s  outrageous  !  As  I  pass  along  the  corridors  of  “Poverty 
Row,”  “  Rat  Alley,”  “  Watkins,”  or  “  Stuart,”  and  my  eye  glances  to  right  and 
left,  I  see  samples  of  all  kinds  of  stationery  hanging  on  the  doors,  with  per¬ 
haps  a  line,  a  cross,  or  some  other  style  of  penmanship  upon  them.  No  matter 
what  the  mark,  it  means  “  No  Ad.”  But  the  one  that  tries  my  patience  most 
of  all  is  that  neat,  white  square  of  paper  that  confronts  me  when  I  go  to  spend 
a  few  sweet  moments  with  my  friend  who ’s  ill.  I  know  she  wants  me;  I  can 
even  hear  her  call.  But  between  us  hangs  that  fatal  “  No  Add.” 


82 


A  legend  of  Dan  Gupid 


It  happened  that  in  days  gone  by 
Unto  this  town  a  youth  came  nigh, 

Who  bravely  bore  midst  friend  and  foe 
Some  arrows  and  a  gilded  bow : 

’T  was  sly  Dan  Cupid. 

“  Now,  by  my  bow,  I  know  the  heart 
Of  mortal  can’t  withstand  my  dart. 

Where  there ’s  a  will,  Love  finds  a  way ; 
And  where  ’s  the  maid  could  say  me  nay  ?  ” 
So  laughed  Dan  Cupid. 


With  joy  he  cries  to  passers-by, 

“  I ’m  on  my  way  to  V.  F.  I.” 

But  school  friends  answer:  “  Idle  quest 
You’ll  be  a  most  unwelcome  guest.” 

Go  back,  Dan  Cupid. 

At  last  he  found  the  gray  stone  pile, 
Mounted  the  steps  with  cunning  smile, 
And  as  by  chance  the  door  stood  wide, 
All  uninvited,  slipt  inside. 

Beware,  Dan  Cupid! 


Alas  for  love,  we  know  the  slip, 

In  such  a  case  ’twixt  cup  and  lip ; 

And  Duty  stern  and  teachers  grim, 

This  time  prove  doughty  match  for  him. 
Too  bad,  Dan  Cupid. 


They  took  away  his  arrows  bright, 

And  hid  his  bow  far  out  of  sight, 

And  having  caught  him  by  surprise, 

They  cast  him  into  “  Paradise.” 

O  shame  !  Dan  Cupid. 

For  now  he  never  makes  a  sound, 

Through  wind  and  rain,  the  whole  year  ’round, 
Not  even  when  the  snow  falls  deep 
And  wraps  him  up  a  fleecy  heap, 

So  cold,  Dan  Cupid. 


O  downfall  dire ! — he  broke  his  arms, 
And  thus  bereft  of  all  his  charms, 
Through  weather  drear  and  weather  fair 
He  now,  alas,  is  standing  there, 

A  changed  Dan  Cupid 

But  silently  he  bears  it  all ; 

The  girls  look  down  from  Stuart  Hall, 
And  quite  unheed  his  pleading  eye, 
With  jokes  and  laughter  pass  him  by  ; 

A  sin,  Dan  Cupid. 


It  seems  too  heartless  to  be  true, 

But  all  depends  on  point  of  view  ; 

If  truth  must  then  be  wholly  known, 
This  poor  boy,  Love,  is  only  stone , 

A  statuette  Dan  Cupid. 


Carrie  Kiger  Conway. 


84 


The  Primer  Man  and  the  History  Man 

or 

The  Tables  Turned. 


Says  Mr.  Brooke  to  Mr.  Green  : 

“  These  girls  are  very  sweet; 
They  study  us,  let ’s  study  them.” 
Says  Mr.  Green:  “'Tis  meet.” 


35 


iSilKoueltes 


(Spb tint  latum 


0hr 

lUmttirrfitl 

UHuffldRfaftrrs 


Generally  thoughts  are  conveyed  from  one  to  another  by  means  of  words 
and  sentences,  but  there  are  more  ways  than  one  to  express  yourself.  A 
wave  of  the  hand,  a  toss  of  the  head,  a  scornful  look,  and  a  bewitching 
smile  often  have  more  significance,  being  more  emphatic  and  impressive, 
than  a  string  of  nouns  and  verbs.  There  is  much  pantomime  in  the  halls  ot 
the  V.  F.  I.,  for  silence  is  strictly  enforced  during  school  hours.  Our  conver¬ 
sation  has  to  be  carried  on  without  using  any  words,  and,  by  constant  practice 
and  a  certain  amount  of  self-control,  thoughts  can  be  exchanged  without 
uttering  a  sound.  The  other  morning,  I  went  into  No.  V  music  room  to 
practice.  The  occupant  looked  at  me  with  much  surprise;  then  she  com¬ 
menced  to  pull  at  an  imaginary  bell.  I  understood  her  and  nodded.  She 
turned  to  her  music,  and,  pointing  to  a  passage  of  chromatic  runs,  passed  her 
hands  rapidly  over  the  keyboard.  It  was  a  new  piece,  and,  of  course,  she 
stumbled  over  it.  No  doubt  she  attributed  her  unsuccessful  attempt  to  the 
music,  for  she  vigorously  shook  her  fist  at  the  offending  measures.  While 
she  was  leaving  the  room,  I  pointed  to  Poverty  Row,  where  she  was  to  meet 
me  at  the  end  of  the  period.  Not  a  word  was  used  during  those  seconds,  but 
we  understood  each  other  perfectly.  Truly,  gesticulation  is  indispensable  to 
the  V.  F.  I.  girls. 

J.  C.  Y. 


Many  unanswerable  questions  unite  to  vex  my  mind,  but  the  one  which 
is  most  urgent  at  present  is  how  the  Y.  F.  I.  teachers  acquired  their  mind¬ 
reading  powers.  If  there  is  an  entertainment  down  the  street  and  my  heart 
goes  out  in  longing  desire  to  be  there,  I  am  very  likely  to  go,  in  spite  of 
unlearned  lessons.  No  matter  how  wise  I  try  to  look  in  class  the  next  day, 
however,  every  teacher  sees  through  it  immediately.  Each  one  in  her  turn 
pumps  and  pumps  and  comes  around  to  pump  again,  until  I’m  forced  to  say, 
“  I  ’in  sorry,  but  I  don’t  seem  to  remember  this  lesson  at  all.”  Or,  if,  having 
forgotten  to  look  up  the  meaning  of  some  word,  I  begin  to  shuffle  around 


86 


uneasily,  I  am  asked  to  give  the  meaning  of  that  selfsame  word.  All  this 
seems  wonderfully  strange,  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  a  solemn  truth.  If  I 
could  write  a  history,  the  V.  F.  I.  teachers  should  go  down  through  all  gen¬ 
erations  as  among  the  great  wonders  of  this  age. 


Take  one  hour  of  study  and  find  a  subject;  thirty  minutes  of  thought 
and  you  will  have  a  remote  idea  of  what  you  want  to  say.  Mix  these  two 
ingredients  together  and  think  hard.  Next  take  your  pad  and  pencil  and 
write  for  forty-five  minutes,  and  you  will  then  have  a  rough  copy  of  a  com¬ 
position,  containing  a  certain  amount  of  thought,  imagination,  and  fact. 
Then  copy  neatly.  You  will  find  when  you  have  finished  that  you  have  a 
theme  ready  to  hand  in  to  your  teacher.  Take  this  mixture  in  broken  doses, 
because  much  at  one  time  is  not  wholesome,  either  for  the  reader  or  the 
writer. 

F.  E. 


Who  knows  anything  more  enervating  and  wearying  than  the  first  warm 
spring  day?  You  get  up  in  the  morning  and  find  that  the  heat  has  not  yet 
been  regulated,  and  so  your  room  is  as  hot  as  Tophet.  You  open  your  window 
and  instead  of  cool,  refreshing  breezes,  the  air  blows  in  warm  over  the  moist, 
humid  earth.  Breakfast  is  tasteless.  You  are  provoked  because  there  are  no 
tempting  spring  dainties  on  the  table.  The  school  bell  rings.  You  stroll 
leisurely  into  the  study  hall.  The  lecture  makes  very  little  impression  this 
morning,  and  dreamily  you  take  your  place  in  the  class-rooms.  In  literature 
you  are  asked  for  Milton’s  thoughts  on  Predestination  from  “  Paradise  Lost 
but  some  of  the  heat  reflected  from  Milton’s  descriptions  has  entered  and 
dulled  your  brain,  and  it  seems  wonderful  that  lie  should  have  thought  about 
such  uninteresting  subjects  on  such  a  day  as  this.  In  geometry  you  must 
define  a  circle.  Helplessly  you  look  up  at  the  sun  and  the  dim  idea  of  a  cir¬ 
cle,  bounded  by  bright  rays,  comes  into  your  head  ;  but  the  question  is  passed 
before  you  can  put  the  idea  into  words.  In  history,  “  Who  was  the  father  of 


A  Sxrripr 
fur  Writing  a 
Ghimpnaitimi 


tUlir  ifirat 
Spring  0ay 


87 


tElrrtiiin 

tEiir 


the  Reformation  in  France?”  is  your  share  of  the  questions.  Vaguely  you 
feel  that  some  day  you  will  be  distinguished,  but  now  it  takes  all  your  self- 
respect  to  keep  back  the  answer,  “  George  Washington.”  Dimly  you  realize 
that  this  day  has  been  a  failure,  and  you  are  tilled  with  the  injustice  of  the 
sunshine  knd  the  warm  Southern  breeze.  But,  after  all,  what  is  the  use  in 
worrying  tibout  anything  when  the  robins  are  beginning  to  sing  and  the  trees 
to  bud  ?  A.  H.  P. 


Last  Friday,  the  day  before  the  one  on  which  the  votes  for  the  Annual 
were  cast*  was  a  wildly  exciting  one  at  the  V.  F.  I.  That  morning  all  the 
day-pupiR  reached  school  unusually  early  in  order  to  get  a  chance  to  discuss 
the  one  absorbing  topic,  and  at  recess  squads  of  girls  could  be  found  in  every 
class-rootn,  talking  all  at  once  and  with  mad  gesticulations,  so  that  no  voice 
could  be  distinguished.  In  the  Infirmary  the  patients  were  expatiating  upon 
their  votes;  the  Reading-Room  was  for  a  time  deserted  as  not  available  for 
talking,  and  there  was  hubbub  in  the  “  gym.”  The  news  of  the  coming 
election  spread  even  to  the  “  Primary.”  When  one  of  the  little  girls  had 
asked  me  for  whom  I  was  going  to  vote  in  one  particular  instance,  and  I  had 
told  her  that  I  was  undecided,  she  said,  “  Well,  you  vote  for  that  tall  girl  in 
the  blue  waist.  Course,  I  don’t  know  her,  but  then  my  best  big  chum  says 
everybody  is  going  to  vote  for  her.”  But  the  topic  was  not  confined  to  the 
walls  of  the  V.  F.  I.,  for  the  day-pupils  that  afternoon  took  long  walks  in 
groups  and  made  lengthy  visits,  forgetting  lessons,  and  some  of  the  homes 
were  used  as  “  lobbies  ”  for  the  coming  and  going  voters.  I  heard  one  girl 
express  surprise  that  Miss  Duval  had  not  declared  a  holiday  in  honor  of 
the  occasion.  We  were  in  such  a  fever  of  excitement  that  we  forgot  to  get 
hungry,  and  I  think  there  could  be  no  more  emphatic  indication  of  our 
frantic  state. 

E.  D. 


88 


The  Dodo 


or 

The  Bird  at  the  Foxinlairv. 


Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered  weak  and  weary, 
O’er  a  next  day’s  lesson  I  had  not  scanned  before, 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  clatter  as  of  some  one  beating  batter, 

And  my  thoughts  began  to  scatter  as  I  started  for  my  chamber  door. 
“’T is  some  visitor,”  I  muttered,  “tapping  at  my  chamber  door — 
Only  this  and  nothing  more.” 

Ah  !  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 

But  with  no  fire  to  cast  its  ruddy  flicker  on  the  floor  ; 

Just  cold  steam  pipes.  Vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow — sorrow  for  the  zero, 

For  the  round  and  shapely,  black,  much-dreaded  zero — 

For  the  nameless  terror,  zero. 


89 


And  the  mournful  gnawing,  gnawing  of  each  hungry  rodent 
Thrilled  me — filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  of  a  dire  potent ; 

So  that  now  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating: 

“  ’T  is  some  girl  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door, 

Some  prowling,  naughty  school  girl  at  my  door — 

This  it  is  and  nothing  more.” 

Then  opening  wide  the  door,  long  I  stood  there,  wondering,  peering ; 

But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  hallway  gave  no  token, 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered  word,  “  Dodo.” 

This  I  murmured,  and  an  echo  whispered  back  the  word  “  Dodo” — 

Only  this  and  nothing  more. 

Open  then  I  flung  the  shutter,  where  I  saw  with  many  a  flutter, 

In  the  moonlight  step  a  stately  Dodo  of  the  days  of  long  ago. 

Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he,  not  a  moment  paused,  because  he 
Stepped  with  air  of  pride  and  kingly  on  a  stone  the  fountain  o’er, 

Perched  upon  a  pedestal  from  the  fountain  floor, 

Stepped  and  perched  this  ancient  Dodo. 

Then  this  bird  of  ancient  time  beguiled  me  into  further  rhyme, 

For  it  bore  the  stamp  of  ages  and  the  comrades  of  sages 
By  the  grave  and  wise  expression  of  the  countenance  it  wore. 

“  Though  a  fowl  of  mark,”  I  said,  “  art  sure  no  lark, 

Coldly  intellectual,  proud  and  ancient  birdling,  wandering  from  Homerian  shore, 
Tell  me  what  thy  rightful  name  is  on  thy  old  and  classic  shore?” 

Quoth  the  Dodo,  “  Dodo.” 

Then  methought  the  air  grew  calm  and  the  scent  of  Eastern  balm 
Mingled  with  the  water’s  ripple  as  it  fell  the  fountain  o’er. 

“  Bird,”  I  cried,  “  what  god  hath  sent  thee,  what  hath  bent  thee 
From  thy  flight  and  led  thee,  whether  friend  or  foe, 

To  take  possession  of  this  fountain  so  ?” 

Quoth  the  Dodo,  “  Dodo.” 

“  Dodo!”  said  I,  “bird  of  wisdom,  Dodo  still,  if  wise  or  foolish, 

Whether  sent  or  carried,  whether  tempest-tossed  or  harried, 

Head  thrown  back  and  pinions  flaunted 
On  this  fount  by  Burroughs  planted, 

On  this  sward  by  schoolgirls  taunted, 

Tell  me  what  I  wish  to  know : 

On  the  morrow  will  I  ’scape  this  zero, 

Zero,  that  I  fear  me,  fear  me  so?” 

Quoth  the  Dodo,  “  No,  No.” 


90 


“  Prophet!”  said  I,  “thing  of  evil— prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil! 

By  the  church  that  looks  upon  us,  by  the  trees  that  bend  so  low, 

Tell  this  soul  if  it  alas !  when  within  to-morrow’s  class 
Something  it  shall  know,  or  receive  that  dreaded  thing,  a  zero?” 

Quoth  the  Dodo,  “  Zero,  Zero.” 

“  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  friend  !  ”  I  shrieked,  upstarting ; 
“  Get  thee  back  to  seek  thy  owner,  to  thy  Eastern  shores  and  Homer; 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  has  spoken ; 

Leave  my  tinkling  fountain,  leave  the  view  of  my  pet  mountain, 

Take  thy  form  from  Paradise,  which  as  Fairyland  we  know.” 

Quoth  the  Dodo,  “  No,  No.” 

And  the  Dodo,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
O’er  the  fountain  on  the  front  lawn  near  the  door — 

In  the  ice  and  snow  of  Winter,  ’mid  the  green  and  charm  of  Summer — 
And  his  eyes  do  ever  shine  with  a  light  half-mocking,  half  divine, 

While  the  water  shimmering  o’er  him,  throws  his  shadow  down  below — 
Throws  the  shadow  of  that  grim  and  ancient  Dodo, 

Of  that  mocking,  wise  old  Dodo. 


91 


THE  PALACE  AT  PEKIN. 


An  Oriental  Garden. 


LET  one’s  imagination  soar  above  his  surroundings  for  a  few  moments, 
and  take  a  glance  at  an  Eastern  garden,  lie  will  find  it  in  the  height  of 
its  beauty  in  spring,  when  the  lilac,  the  orchid,  the  jasmine,  and  the 
hyacinth  are  in  bloom.  Entering  the  arched  gateway,  built  of  rustic  branches, 
a  breath  of  fragrance  greets  the  visitor,  and  looking  overhead,  he  catches  sight 
of  the  roses  intertwining  with  the  branches  of  the  arch. 

Before  him  is  a  winding  walk,  not  paved  with  cement  or  asphalt,  hut  with 
mosaic,  bordered  on  either  side  by  shells  of  various  forms,  peeping  out  among 
the  green  grass. 

To  the  right  is  a  lake,  shaped  like  a  crescent,  and  enclosed  by  a  row  of 
blossoming  cherry  and  peach  trees.  The  surface  of  the  water  is  almost 
entirely  hidden  by  the  pink  lotus  with  its  immense,  leaves.  Standing  out  in 
the  middle  of  the  lake  is  a  unique  octagonal  summer-house,  surrounded  by  a 
balcony,  and  the  whole  building  is  separated  from  the  banks.  The  songs  of 
the  canaries  and  thrushes  floating  from  over  the  water  is  irresistible,  and  the 
light  canoe  with  its  tiny  oars  lies  invitingly  beside  the  bank. 

Alter  a  few  paddlings,  the  boat  carries  the  visitor  to  the  summer-house, 
and  he  enters  eagerly.  In  the  centre  of  the  lofty  room  is  a  round  ebony  table 
with  a  glass  top,  through  which  gold  and  silver  fishes  can  be  seen  swimming 
in  their  shallow  bed.  From  the  airy  cages  ranged  on  the  walls,  the  lark,  the 
nightingale,  the  mocking-bird,  and  the  popinjay  pour  forth  songs  of  ha  piness 
and  mirth.  The  ceiling  is  indeed  a  marvel.  It  is  built  in  the  shape  of  a 
dome,  heavily  gilded,  and  set  with  innumerable  little  mirrors  that  twinkle  and 
glitter  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  The  window-panes  are  of  stained  or 
tinted  glass,  admitting  a  soft  light,  while  the  air  of  the  room  is  scented  by 
violets  and  heliotrope,  daintily  arranged  in  porcelain  vases. 

The  visitor  hurries  away  from  this  enchanting  place,  crosses  a  zigzag 
bridge  which  spans  the  lake,  and  turns  to  the  left  of  the  walk.  There  lies  a 


93 


velvety  lawn,  dotted  here  and  there  with  stone  tables  and  porcelain  stools, 
placed  under  the  shade  of  the  willow,  the  palm,  or  the  magnolia,  in  their  gay 
spring  dress.  Everywhere  the  lawn  is  relieved  by  rustic  summer-houses  or 
by  quaint  flower-beds,  bordered  by  shells  also.  A  fountain  is  built  in  the 
center  of  the  grass  plot,  and  the  water  spouts  merrily  from  the  mouth  of 
the  dragon  carved  out  of  solid  stone.  There  are  benches  around  it,  on  which 
the  visitor  can  rest  and  watch  the  water  sporting  with  a  light  ball  which  it 
supports.  A  chain  of  miniature  mountains  with  tunnels  and  stony  paths  rises 
in  the  rear  of  the  garden.  The  rugged  masses  are  covered  with  the  most 
delicate  ferns  and  flowers.  What  can  equal  the  exquisite  beauty  of  such  a 
place?  Can  we  not  call  it  a  paradise  upon  earth? 

as  #rv f££ 


94 


3harp  Guls. 


“  Misery  acquaints  a  man  with  strange  bedfellows.” — Anna  Alvey  and 
Cora  Lutz. 

“  Either  to  die  the  death  or  to  abjure  forever  the  society  of  men.” — Lillian 
Young. 

“  Thy  sins  not  accidental,  but  a  trade.” — Frances  Page. 

“  Would  that  those  lips  had  language.” — Winifred  Browse. 

“  Would  that  those  had  not  language.” — E.  Timberlake. 

“  Their  study  was  hut  little  on  the  Bible.” — Willey  and  Sinnott. 

“  To  be  slow  in  words  is  woman’s  only  virtue.” — IIallie  Read. 

“  I  would  not  grow  so  fast,  because  sweet  flowers  are  slow,  and  weeds 
make  haste.” — Katharine  Wheelocic. 

“  Large  will  be  her  footprints  on  the  sands  of  time.” — Alice  Smith. 

“  I  laugh  ‘  sans  intermission.’  ” — Lydia  Fuller. 

“  Full  well  she  sang  and  tun’d  in  her  nose  full  sweetly.” — Cecilia  Bratton. 
“  That  fatal  freshness.” — A.  Hendricks. 

“  She  is  noble,  wise,  judicious,  and  best  knows  the  tits  of  the  season.” — 
Miss  Whitfield. 

“  Behold,  what  a  weariness  is  it!  ” — French  Table. 

“  Night  after  night  she  sat  and  bleared  her  eyes  with  books.” — Anne  Kemp. 
“  The  long  hours  come  and  go.” — Monday. 

“  Don’t  put  too  tine  a  point  to  your  wit  for  fear  it  should  get  blunted.” — 
Carrie  Conway. 

“They  have  a  plentiful  lack  of  wit.” — Chaucer  Class. 

“You  can  and  you  can’t,  you  will  and  you  won’t.” — Invalid  Class. 

“  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make.” — V.  F.  I. 

“  Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face.’' — Loulie  Snead. 

“  We  grieved,  we  sighed,  wre  wept.” — At  Final  Exams. 

“  She  sighed,  and  looked,  then  sighed  again.” — Virginia  Lee. 

“  A  mighty  pain  to  love  it  is, 

And ’t  is  a  pain  that  pain  to  miss.” 

— The  Cases. 


95 


“  Things  unattempted  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme.” — Mosaics,  1901-’02. 

“  To  prove  their  doctrines  orthodox 
By  apostolic  blows  and  knocks.” 

— Carrie  and  Annie  in  Reformation  Class. 
“  Sense,  sure  you  have.” — Mr.  Minor. 

u  I  love  not  the  humour  of  bread  and  cheese.’" — Sunday  Night  Supper. 

“  It  will  discourse  most  excellent  music.” — Chorus  Class. 

“  How  can  the  merciless  expect  mercy  ?  ” — The  Faculty. 

“  Think  on  thy  sins.” — Saturday  Morning  Talk 

“  On  their  own  (de)merits,  honest  girls  are  dumb.” — Saturday  Morn¬ 
ing  Roll. 

“  Laugh,  and  be  fat.” — Frances  Mayer. 

“  And  gladly  would  she  learn  and  gladly  teach.” — Miss  Harrison. 

“  Oh,  she  will  sing  the  savageness  out  of  a  bear.” — Elise  Wilson. 

“  A  plague  of  sighing  and  grief.” — Louise  Briscoe. 

“  Let  him  be  sure  to  leave  other  men  their  times  to  speak.” — Lydia  Lee. 
“  She  speaks  poignards  and  every  word  stabs.” — Nellie  Minor. 

“  What  a  sweep  of  vanity  comes  this  way.” — Jennie  Minge 
“  She  is  pretty  to  walk  with, 

And  witty  to  talk  with, 

And  pleasant  too,  to  think  on.” 

— Annie  C.  Berkeley. 

“  She  was  kittenish  in  her  manners,  wearing  generally  an  air  of  soft  and 
fluffy  innocence.” — Nellie  Gordon. 

“  Pluck  up  drowned  honour  by  the  locks.” — Miss  Duval. 


96 


GOLF  IS  NOT  THE  ONLY  GAME  ON  EARTH 


(On  Seeing  Gibson's  Picture  Presented  as  a  Tableau.) 


TO  J.  W. 


Darkness  veiled  our  upturned  faces, 

Silence  fell  upon  us  all. 

Throbbing  hearts  beat  there  together, 

Waiting  in  the  crowded  hall. 

Deeply  stirring  all  my  being, 

Rushing  to  my  eager  eyes, 

Love  looked  out,  though  scarcely  seeing. 

Waiting  for  the  curtain's  rise. 

Presently  a  light  broke  o'er  us: 

You  we  saw,  sincere  and  pure  ; 

Standing  there,  your  gentle  beauty 

Stilled  us,  thrilled  us  more  and  more. 

Though  but  two  were  there  together 
In  the  soft  light’s  gentle  ray, 

Cupid's  arrow  pierced  my  being, 

Joining  in  that  old,  old  play. 

Thinking  sadly  of  the  future, 

Of  full  many  a  dreaded  day 

When  again  this  Southland  weary 

For  your  gentle  voice  should  pray. 

Dearest,  surely  through  the  stillness 
From  my  heart  a  message  fled. 

Tell  me  dearest,  best,  and  purest, 

Tell  me  how  that  message  sped. 

Was  it  lost  in  Cupid's  quiver, 

Standing  there  between  us  two? 

Is  it  gone  and  lost  ferever, 

With  its  message  meant  for  you? 

Is  it  gone,  or  does  it  nestle 

In  your  heart,  so  pure  and  fair  ? 

Tell  me,  does  it  vainly  wrestle 
Or  in  safety  whisper  there? 

Loulie  A.  Snead. 

7s 


97 


The  Modern  Woman. 


[The  following  article  is  an  extract  from  an  address  delivered  April  10, 
1902,  by  Hon.  John  S.  Wise,  to  the  Graduating  Class  of  Trained  Nurses  at 
the  Post-Graduates’  Hospital,  and  is  given  here  with  the  kind  permission  of 
the  author.] 

THE  temper  of  our  times,  at  least  in  America,  certainly  does  not  seek  to 
circumscribe  woman’s  sphere  of  usefulness  or  deny  her  opportunities. 
We  may  not  have  accorded  her  sutfrage,  but  we  surely  have  acquiesced 
in  any  demand  she  has  made  for  admission  into  the  professions  and  trades. 
It  is  not  the  foreigner  alone  who  is  astonished  at  the  extent  to  which  woman 
has,  within  our  own  time,  become  a  factor  in  the  commercial,  industrial,  and 
professional  life  of  America.  Within  a  few  years  great  changes  have  occurred 
in  these  respects.  Perhaps  more  women  have  found  employment  as  type¬ 
writers  and  trained  nurses  than  in  any  other  business  callings;  but  they  are  in 
many  other  vocations  which  until  of  late  years  employed  men  almost  exclu¬ 
sively.  Female  lawyers  have  not  yet  become  very  prominent ;  but  female  doc¬ 
tors  are  becoming  influential.  I  know  several  who  are  making  both  reputation 
and  money.  Female  editors,  newspaper  correspondents  and  reporters  ;  female 
accountants  and  cashiers  ;  female  clerks  in  shops  and  hotels;  and  many  other 
female  business  folk  are  abroad  in  the  land.  It  is  a  new  departure,  and  the 
outcome  of  this  mingling  of  the  sexes  in  new  relations  to  each  other  is  watched 
with  great  interest  by  students  of  social  problems. 

What  effect  is  it  to  produce  upon  the  intellect,  the  manners,  the  daily 
thought  and  conversation,  which  go  to  fix  the  character  of  the  communities 
in  which  it  exists?  For  myself,  I  am  confident  that  the  presence  of  women 
in  the  business  life  of  men  tends  to  refinement  both  in  the  conduct  and  in 
conversation  of  the  men.  A  business  place  in  which  females  are  present  is 
very  different  from  what  it  was  when  there  was  nothing  to  restrain  the  loose 
and  idle  talk  in  which  the  average  youngster  is  prone  to  indulge,  with  none 


98 


but  his  own  sex  present.  And  while  there  may  be  drawbacks,  a  vast  number 
of  happy  marriages  have  resulted  from  men  and  women  being  thrown  together 
in  this  way,  in  the  ripening  of  mutual  respect  for  the  business  capacity  of 
each  other,  into  the  tender  passion,  based  upon  foundations  safer  than  mere 
sentiment.  I  have  little  respect  for  the  arguments  which  assert  that  there  are 
really  serious  objections  to  the  intermingling  of  the  sexes  in  business.  My 
observation  is,  and  I  have  had  more  than  ordinary  opportunities,  that  as  a 
rule  it  is  unobjectionable  and  that  the  general  results  are  mutually  beneficial. 

I  frankly  admit,  however,  it  seems  to  me,  that  women  have  more  to  guard 
against  than  men  when  they  step  down  into  the  masculine  arena. 

They  surely  must  perceive  what  all  men  acknowledge  frankly,  that  the 
charm  and  power  of  woman  lies,  not  in  physical  or  even  intellectual  strength 
and  endurance,  so  much  as  in  the  possession,  and  retention  under  all  circum¬ 
stances,  of  purity  of  thought  and  language,  gentleness,  sweetness  of  temper, 
modesty,  refinement,  courtesy,  dignity,  and  those  other  preeminently  female 
qualities  in  which  men  confess  her  to  be  their  superiors,  and  which  the  veri¬ 
est  male  brute  respects.  No  woman  recognizing  this  and  feeling  herself 
strong  enough  to  govern  her  conduct  by  it,  should  hesitate  a  moment  to  enter 
into  the  business  sphere  of  men. 

On  the  other  hand,  no  woman  should  do  so  with  the  idea  of  becoming 
“  mannish.”  When  woman  becomes  “  snappy  ”  and  “  slangy  ”  and  what 
some  are  pleased  to  call  “  advanced,”  men  are  amused  and  oftentimes 
encourage  them;  but  it  is  always  at  heavy  cost  to  the  woman  herself ;  for 
while  men  laugh  at  this  character  of  brightness  or  doubtful  modesty,  no  man 
who  remembers  his  mother’s  or  sister’s  gentleness  and  aspires  to  a  wife  like 
them,  will  seek  her  among  women  who  in  effect  proclaim,  “  I  am  just  as  good 
a  man  as  you  are.” 

Masculine  instinct  never  searches  for  masculine  traits  or  masculine  brazen¬ 
ness  in  the  other  sex.  It  is  repelled  by  them  as  infallibly  as  the  positive  pole 
of  magnetism  repels  its  like  and  is  attracted  to  its  negative  mate. 

I  recall  meeting,  on  one  occasion,  a  handsome,  well-dressed,  attractive 
woman,  who  was  acting  as  judge  of  ladies’  riding-horses  at  a  horse  show. 
Until  we  entered  the  ring  together  I  thought  her  charming.  There  was  no 
occasion  for  her  shocking  me — all  my  predilections  were  in  her  favor.  Ho 


99 


doubt  she  was  a  very  good  woman  in  her  way.  But  after  what  I  saw  her  do 
and  heard  her  say,  I  lost  all  interest  in  her.  She  was  simply  too  “  horsey  ”  a 
woman  to  suit  my  masculine  tastes  ;  and  I  do  not  think  I  am  a  prude.  She 
mistook  the  extent  of  her  duties  under  the  circumstances. 

I  have  met  many  trained  nurses.  Their  profession  is  a  noble  one — one 
worthy  to  commend  them  to  the  most  deferential  respect,  nay,  reverence,  of 
man  and  woman.  Everybody  knows  what  knowledge,  on  their  part,  profi¬ 
ciency  in  their  calling  implies.  It  should  not,  and  will  not,  save  as  they  them¬ 
selves  cause  it  to  do  so,  detract  one  iota  from  scrupulous  consideration  of  their 
modest  womanhood.  In  the  vast  majority  of  cases  it  does  not.  Yet  we  men 
know  how  repulsive  to  all  our  high  ideals  of  womanhood  is  the  nurse  who  in 
manner  or  conversation  assumes  the  role  of  being  “  knowing.” 

Oh,  woman,  that  intuitive  reading  of  men’s  natures  which  is  your  crown¬ 
ing  strength  and  armor,  must  teach  you,  if  you  reflect  but  a  moment,  that 
man  is  your  slave  so  long  as  you  wear  your  native  crown  of  modesty  and 
exact  his  tribute  to  your  superior  refinement;  that  you  may  invade  his  lairs 
with  impunity,  claim  from  him  your  rights,  and  emerge  from  all  contact  with 
him  with  your  dominion  over  him  unimpaired,  if  you  never  lose  sight  of  the 
real  foundations  of  your  kingdom.  On  the  other  hand,  remember  what 
a  watchful  brute  he  is.  Do  not,  through  any  false  notion  of  your  mission, 
seek  to  be  like  him.  You  can  not  be  like  him  if  you  try  ever  so  hard. 
When  you  cease  to  be  yourself,  your  better  self,  you  have  lost  your  great 
advantage.  Then,  but  not  until  then,  you  will  find  that  man,  with  his 
coarser  nature  and  with  superior  brute  force,  will  take  you  at  a  disadvantage 
of  your  own  bringing  about  and  will  become  master. 

The  secret  of  female  dominion  is  the  employment  of  female  attributes. 
The  only  danger  to  woman  is  when  she  seeks  to  be  other  than  what  she 
naturally  is.  Her  breastplate  is  her  modesty  and  her  dignity.  Her  scimiter 
is  her  refinement.  Her  safeguard  is  upright  walk  and  conversation. 
Jealously  guarding  these,  such  may  with  impunity  enjoy  all  the  advantages 
of  modern  womanhood  and  preserve  a  type  of  womanhood  as  refined  and 
exalted  as  that  of  the  days  of  chivalry. 


100 


T  arrvs. 


How  They  Fell  Out. 


A  professor  of  English  at  one  of  the  large  Southern  universities  gave  as 
a  subject  to  one  of  his  theme  classes  one  day,  “  How  They  Fell  Out.”  The 
look  of  incredulity  that  greeted  him  was  most  laughable,  and  a  murmer  of 
protest  went  around  the  class.  On  the  end  of  one  of  the  benches,  however, 
sat  a  student  who,  after  deliberating  for  a  moment,  began  writing  furiously, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  half  hour  handed  to  the  professor  the  following: 

They  were  very  much  in  love  with  each  other — this  summer  girl  and 
this  college  boy — and  having  exhausted  all  the  usual  lover-like  operations, 
proposed  a  moonlight  drive.  Could  anything  be  more  conducive  to  the  mur¬ 
muring  of  sweet  nothings  than  such  a  pleasure  ?  Just  as  old  Sol  was  sinking 
behind  the  horizon,  with  a  last  lazy  wink  at  all  nature,  the  college  boy  drove 
up  and,  amid  many  excited  fluttcrings,  the  two  began  the  drive.  They  were 
driving  along  a  road  that  led  under  the  sweet-smelling  pines,  where  the 
moon  sifted  through  the  branches  in  great  patches  of  light  and  where  all 
seemed  most  suited  to  the  occasion.  Suddenly  the  wheels  struck  a  huge 
rock  that  had  slipped  into  the  road,  and  the  trap  lurched  heavily  to  one  side. 
Before  either  was  able  to  realize  what  had  happened,  they  were  prone  upon 
the  ground.  Thus  for  the  first  time  in  this  happy  summer  the  summer  girl 
and  the  college  boy  fell  out. 

Lydia  Dozier  Lee. 


102 


The  Family  Who  Trusted  irv  Uncles. 


There  was  once  a  family — a  poor  family,  and  so,  of  course,  a  big  family. 
Poor  Mr.  Brown,  the  father,  and  Mrs.  Brown,  the  mother,  were  often  driven 
to  their  wits’  end  to  find  where  the  Sunday’s  dessert  was  to  come  from. 
One  day,  however,  Mr.  Brown  came  in  to  dinner  radiant. 

“  My  dear,”  he  said,  “  my  rich  Uncle  Reginald  de  Brownton  is  coming 
to  stay  with  us  for  a  week  and  doubtless,  on  his  departure,  he  will  send  Tom 
to  school,  he  will  give  Dick  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  take  Harry  to  spend  the 
winter  with  him.  So  you  see,  my  dear,  we  can  afford  to  have  dessert  every 
day  while  he  is  here,  to  get  Susan  a  new  dress,  to  give  Jane  a  new  pair  of 
shoes,  and  to  buy  a  new  counterpane  for  the  bed  in  which  my  uncle  will  sleep, 
for  he  mustn’t  be  ashamed  of  his  relations.” 

Then,  Tom  was  sent  to  the  baker’s,  Dick  to  the  confectioner’s,  and 
Harry  to  the  shoe  store;  Susan  went  to  six  dry  goods  houses  and  got  a  hun¬ 
dred  samples  of  five-cent  calico;  Mrs.  Brown  got  the  counterpane  and,  when 
night  came,  the  family  sat  down  in  a  spotlessly  clean  house  to  wait  for  the 
rich  uncle  who  was  to  sleep  on  the  best  bed,  in  the  best  room,  and  use  the 
new  counterpane. 

But  alas  !  for  the  next  Sunday’s  dessert.  The  rich  uncle  arrived,  and 
with  him  his  dog.  Jane  was  sent  on  so  many  errands  that  her  new  shoes 
wore  out;  the  dog  tore  Susan’s  new  dress  the  first  day.  Uncle  Reginald 
remained  in  his  room  all  morning  and  burnt  a  hole  in  the  new  counterpane 
with  his  cigar.  Tom  and  Dick  and  Harry  had  to  stay  in  the  streets  all  day  so 
as  not  to  disturb  this  uncle  who  detested  boys;  and  on  Saturday  night  Uncle 
Reginald  departed,  leaving  the  pantry  empty,  the  boys  furious,  Susan  in  her 
old  d  ress,  Jane  in  a  pair  of  her  mother’s  slippers,  and  the  counterpane  burnt 
in  three  places. 

Loulie  Atkinson  Snead. 


103 


Urvc’  Eberv’s  ^Recollection. 


Unc’  Eben  sank  into  a  deep  reverie,  gazing  at  the  glowing  logs  heaped 
up  into  a  comfortable  blaze.  “  Tell  you  what !  ”  he  exclaimed,  “  dem  was 
days,  sho  nuff !  We,” — meaning  Mrs.  Cecil,  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  him¬ 
self,  the  butler  at  “  Fairfield  ”  in  those  days — “  we  used  to  have  loads  o’ 
comp’ny,  an’  put  on  mo’  style !  Not  but  what  we  didn’t  have  it  on  all  de  time ; 
but,  when  yo’ng  Marse  George  come  home  f’om  Richmond  for  de  las’  time 
— dat  wuz  de  crownin’  pint.  Secli  a  dancin’  an’  a  talkin’  nebber  wuz  seen. 
Mis’  Rose — she  Marse  George’s  ma — you  knows  dat  much — she  look  lak  de 
flower  she  name  after,  an’  Miss  Vi’let,  she  wuz  putty  nigh  de  same.  An’ 
den,” — here  the  old  man’s  voice  lowered,  and  his  face  fell — “  den,  dat 
happened.” 

“  What  happened  Unc’  Eben  ?  Do  tell  me  quick  !  ”  I  cried. 

The  old  negro  shivered,  and  his  eyes  grew  round  with  terror,  apparently 
at  some  recollection  of  the  past.  “Chile,”  he  gasped,  “don’  eber  say  you 
don’  believe  in  ghosts,  ’t  ain’t  safe.  Don’  nobody  know  how  many  of  ’em ’s 
cavortin’  ’round  unbeknownst,  ’specially  in  dese  here  ole  houses.” 

He  stopped  and  seemed  to  forget  where  he  was,  so  I,  pulled  him  by 
his  tattered  sleeve,  and  cried,  “  But,  Unc’  Eben,  tell  me  what  happened.” 

He  was  strangely  changed  in  so  short  a  while,  and  said,  “  Law,  chile, 
ain’  I  ever  tell  you  ’bout  dis?  Well,  ’t  was  jes  dis  way:  Marse  George,  he 
love  Miss  Vi’let,  an’,  when  he  perposed,  she  up  an’  ’eepted  him,  after  playin’ 
wid  him  a  while,  in  cose.  Den  wuzn’t  thar  a-feastin’  an’  a-carryin’  on  ! 
Marse  George,  he  way  up  in  de  sky,  an’  seem  lak  he  joyin’  hisself  up  dar,  too. 
But  he  had  ter  come  down;  he  most  pintedly  did.  Dat  night  befo’  de  day 
appinted  for  de  weddin’,  we  all  niggers  wuz  a-settin’  up  late  ter  perpare  our 
sperits  for  de  ’casion  wid  singin’,  and  eatin’,  an’  specylatin’  on  de  match. 
An’  dey  warn’t  no  lack  o’  warnin’s,  neither.  I  could  swar  dat  I  beam  a 
screecher  a-performin’  up  to  the  gret-house,  an’  seem  lak  ebery  dog  wuz 
a-howlin’  under  de  winders.  But  didn’t  nobody  pay  no  ’tention  to  dat ;  an’ 
de  nex’  mornin’  dar  wan’t  no  Miss  Vi’let,  an’,  f’om  dat  day  to  dis,  ain’ 
nobody  know  what  come  o’  her,  an’  what ’s  mo’,  ain’  nobody  gwine  to  know. 


104 


Some  say  dat  nudder  man  on  a  prancin’  black  horse  come  an’  steal  her  ’way, 
an’  some  say  she  run  ’way  hersc’f;  but,  ef  she  did,  huccome  she  leave 
her  sperit  behind?  Tell  me  dat.” 

Awed  into  silence,  I  waited  some  minutes  till  he  recovered  himself,  and 
went  on,  “  Yassir!  She  lef’  her  sperit  behind,  an’  I  ain’  de  on’y  one  as  seen 
it,  mostly  walkin’  up  an’  down — up  an’  down  de  yew  walk  on  misty  nights 
when  de  moon  gone  down,  jes’  lak  when  she  wuz  took.” 

“But,  Unc’  Eben,”  said  I,  “where  are  Miss  Rose  and  Marse  George 
now  ?  ” 

“  Don’  ask  me,  chile,”  he  moaned,  relapsing  into  his  former  grief,  “  de 
ole  place  gone  to  ruin — an’  all  de  people  dead — all  dead  but  dis  pore  ole 
nigger,  an’  he  prays  to  go  soon !  ” 

Overcome  by  his  emotion,  I,  childlike,  wept  with  him,  though  I  could 
not  understand  his  feeling.  Soon,  however,  he  brightened  up,  “  Law,  Marse 
Dick!”  he  cried,  “look  at  de  sun.  Time  you  wuz  home  eatin’  yo’  supper, 
to  tell  de  trufe !  ” 

Louise  Shackelford  Fontaine. 


The  jSaint. 


It  was  almost  dark  in  St.  Isadore’s  little  church  and,  in  fact,  the  only 
light  came  from  a  smoky  taper  that  cast  a  faint  glow  over  the  dusty  tinsel 
back  of  the  altar  and  brought  into  dim  relief  the  fat  figure  of  the  kneeling 
priest.  Most  of  the  church  was  dark  and  one  could  only  dimly  distinguish 
the  figure  of  a  girl,  kneeling  at  the  chancel-step.  A  little  distance  back 
could  be  indistinctly  seen  the  spectre-like,  dark-veiled  Sisters  who  were  wait¬ 
ing  to  receive  the  kneeling  girl  into  their  order.  Still  further  back,  almost 
hidden  in  the  blackness,  were  the  family  of  the  novice,  gazing  with  reveren¬ 
tial  affection  on  her  so  soon  to  be  taken  from  them.  A  strange  hush  fell 
over  every  one,  and  every  eye  was  closed  and  every  head  bowed,  as  the 
priest  began  sleepily  to  drone  out  long  Latin  prayers  in  a  dreary  monotone. 


105 


On  and  on  lie  went,  and  lower  sank  the  heads  of  his  hearers  until,  mingling 
in  with  the  sound  of  his  drawling,  a  low  snore  could  be  heard  every  now 
and  then  from  some  of  the  Sisters  on  the  front  benches. 

There  was  a  slight  sound  on  the  roof,  but  no  one  marked  it,  it  seemed 
only  to  harmonize  with  the  weary  sounds  within.  Only  the  novice  stole  sly 
glances  upward  and  moved  uneasily  on  the  chancel-step.  Suddenly  one  of 
the  Sisters  heard  a  slight,  queer  noise,  a  rustling  in  the  air.  At  first,  she 
didn’t  raise  her  eyes,  but,  at  last,  curiosity  overcame  her  scruples  and  she 
looked  up. 

“  A  miracle  !  A  miracle !  ”  she  cried,  as  she  beheld  the  girl  slowly  rising 
toward  the  low  ceiling.  The  Mother  Superior  rubbed  her  eyes,  the  Padre 
grunted  and  turned  around,  and  every  one  else  looked  around  in  a  dazed 
sort  of  way.  When  they  had  collected  their  scattered  senses  enough  to  look 
where  the  Sister  pointed,  the  novice  was  already  ascending  through  a  hole  in 
the  roof.  In  a  second  she  was  gone.  Everybody  stood  gazing  in  open- 
mouthed  wonder.  Where  was  Roseta  gone? 

At  last  the  Padre  spoke:  “  My  children,  well  may  you  stand  rapt  and 
awestruck  at  this  proof  of  St.  Isadore’s  glorious  power.  Blessed  he  her 
name !  She  has  taken  this  maiden  to  herself  in  the  wonderful  heaven. 
Blessed  are  ye  who  have  seen  a  saint  ascend  to  the  sky.  Let  us  express  our 
wonder  and  adoration  of  the  gracious  Isadore !  Let  us  erect  a  memorial 
altar  to  her  name  and  that  of  the  maid  who  has  ascended  to-day.” 

Like  wildfire  spread  the  news,  and  great  crowds  thronged  to  the  little 
church  and  great  offerings  poured  into  the  little  treasury  of  St.  Isadore. 
Never  was  there  such  excitement  in  Lima.  Not  even  when  the  Chilian  sol¬ 
diers  marched  into  the  city  two  weeks  before,  not  even  when  the  Chilian 
soldiers  marched  out  the  next  morning,  were  the  people  so  stirred  up. 
What  was  a  war  to  one  of  their  number  being  translated  to  heaven  ?  The 
bishop  visited  Roseta’s  family  and  told  them  he  would  send  the  girl’s  name 
to  Rome  for  canonization.  How  those  parents  felt  can  never  be  described. 
Their  daughter  a  saint!  Was  it  possible?  A  saint  to  be  worshiped  all  over 
the  earth  !  It  was  too  great ! 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  in  walked  Roseta,  limping 
and  weeping.  Her  story  was  soon  told :  A  Chilian  soldier  had  won  her 


106 


love;  had  had  no  chance  to  carry  her  off  till  at  the  church  when,  by  a  pre¬ 
arranged  plan,  he  had  let  down  a  rope  during  prayers  and  drawn  her  up; 
had  married  her  that  day,  had  beaten  her  the  next,  and  she  had  returned  to 
her  parents. 

Mary  Meares  Galt. 


107 


u 


Evidence,”  “Pleading,”  “Practice,” 


As  3howrv  in  the  L,ove  Affairs  of  a  Susceptible 
Maiderv  and  a  {Jealous  Marv. 


Charleston,  S.  C.,  May  1st,  1901. 

My  Dear  Miss  Katharine: — 

Remembering  your  promise  to  “  be  good  to  me  and  mine,”  I  am  writing 
this  note  to  ask  a  favor  of  you.  A  very  good  friend  of  mine,  one  Randolph 
Carter  by  name,  will  arrive  in  Richmond  this  week  to  make  that  city  bis  place 
of  habitation.  Won’t  you  be  as  nice  to  him  as  you  can — which  is  the  best, 
ever — and  take  pity  on  bis  lonely  lot  in  the  city  ?  Do  not  trifle  with  his  young 
affections,  as  is  your  wont.  And  believe  me, 

Yours, 

Henry  Lyman. 


My  Dear  Miss  Howard: — 


Richmond,  Va.,  May  5th,  1901. 


You  are,  indeed,  good  to  take  me  “in  faith,”  from  my  friend  Henry 
Lyman,  and  your  kind  invitation  for  Wednesday’s  reception  is  accepted  most 
cordially,  and  deeply  appreciated.  With  deepest  regard, 

Sincerely  yours, 

Randolph  Carter. 


108 


Richmond,  Va.,  May  9tli,  1901. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Carter  : — 

I  shall,  indeed,  believe  that  you  enjoyed  yourself  last  evening  at  the 
reception,  if  these  exquisite  violets  you  have  sent  me  are  meant  ns  appreci¬ 
ation.  Thank  you  for  them ;  they  are  my  favorite  flower,  and  shall  he 
greatly  enjoyed. 

Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  a  drive  with  you  to-morrow, 
and  I  shall  be  ready  at  the  appointed  hour. 

Most  cordially  yours, 

Katharine  S.  Howard. 


Richmond,  Va.,  May  15th,  1901. 

Dear  Miss  Katharine: — 

My  drive  with  you  last  week  was  such  a  perfect  pleasure  that  you  must 
pardon  me  for  asking  you  for  another  such  boon  to-morrow  afternoon.  Wear 
these  roses  for  me  and  let  these  violets  bring  thoughts  of 

Yours  faithfully, 

R.  Carter. 

Tuesday,  May  18th,  1901. 

Thank  you  so  much,  dear  Mr.  Carter,  for  your  lovely  letter  and  exquisite 
flowers.  I  am  a  great  deal  better  this  morning,  and  trust  you  have  felt  no 
very  bad  effects  from  our  runaway.  Such  a  brute  of  a  horse  to  be  so  beauti¬ 
ful;  but  you  more  than  proved  yourself  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  I  long  to 
tell  you  of  my  gratitude  to  you,  my  hero,  now. 

Come  to  dinner,  ert  famille ,  Sunday  at  6.30,  and  be  prepared  for  an  eulogy. 

As  ever,  K.  II. 


Monday,  May  19th,  1901. 

Katharine,  since  last  night’s  talk  in  that  beautiful,  dimly-lighted  parlor, 
my  thoughts  have  been  all  of  you,  and  there  is  a  passionate  longing  in  my 
heart  to  see  you  again  to-night.  Grant  this  request,  because  I  leave  Richmond 


109 


early  Tuesday  morning  for  a  business  trip  of  two  months.  Only  one  word, 
“  Come,”  will  be  needed  for  my  happiness.  With  impatience, 

Yours  devotedly, 

Randolph  Carter. 


Yes;  Come. 


May  19th,  1901. 
Faithfully,  Katharine. 


Norfolk,  Va.,  June  10th,  1901. 

Katharine,  dearest  and  truest  of  all  women,  why  do  you  love  me  so  ? — I, 
who  have  nothing  that  in  any  way  could  deserve  your  affection  !  Remember, 
though,  that  I  will  always  love,  yes,  always,  always.  You  are  to  be  mine, 
aren’t  you,  Katharine  ?  And  then  will  be  the  realization  of  the  greatest  bliss 
mortal  can  ever  dare  hope  for. 

Yours  always — yours  only, 

Ran. 


Charleston,  S.  C.,  January  4th,  1902. 

Ran,  dearest,  you  should  be  in  this  great  old  city  and  have  some  of  my 
joys.  Such  a  grand  time,  and  everything  perfect,  and  without  end. 

Our  friend  Henr}^  Lyman  has  been  lovely  to  me  and,  seeing  him  con¬ 
stantly,  we  talk  of  you.  He  is  even  more  handsome  and  attractive  than  ever, 
and  such  splendid  company.  I  have  just  come  in  from  a  drive  with  him  and 
then  off  to  a  reception  at  Mrs.  Lyman’s,  his  dear  mother’s.  A  great  deal  of 
love  for  you,  Ran.  As  ever,  Kitty. 


February  1st,  1902. 

Ran,  dear,  have  I  taken  two  weeks  and  more  to  write  to  you,  and  you 
have  been  so  good  to  me,  too?  Pardon  me,  won’t  you?  My  time  is  not  my 
own. 


i  io 


Henry  has  just  left,  and  as  we  have  been  doing  the  Exposition,  I  am  very 
tired.  Be  good  to  yourself  and  write  again  to 

Yours,  Kitt. 

P.  S.  Thanks,  so  much,  for  the  glorious  violets.  You  are  ever  such  a 
dear  boy. 


February  20th,  1902. 

Hear  Ran  : — 

Your  last  three  letters  have  all  arrived  and  gave  so  much  pleasure  that 
they  should  have  been  answered  sooner.  But  I  am  now  staying  with  Henry’s 
mother  and  there  is  even  more  gayety  than  ever. 

Have  you  been  lonely,  dear  boy  ?  Cheer  up,  for  I  am  coming  home  next 
week,  and  as  Henry  comes  home  with  me,  the  combined  advent  should 
make  you  jump  for  joy.  Katharine. 


Richmond,  Va.,  February  28th,  1902. 

So  you  could  not  come  to  the  station  last  night  because  it  “  hurt  you  ”  to 
see  Henry  and  me  together.  You  foolish  man  !  Jealous  of  your  old  friend. 
Am  afraid  you  have  changed  for  the  worse,  since  my  departure  in  December. 
If  you  are  going  to  be  so  foolish  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  say. 

As  ever,  Katharine  Howard. 


Richmond,  Va.,  March  lltli,  1902. 

Dear  Mr.  Carter: — 

Oh  !  the  humor  of  it !  We  have  been  two  young  idiots.  Am  sure  you 
know  that  I  can  no  longer  care  for  you  after  the  way  you  have  acted  in 
this  affair  of  Mr.  Lyman  and  myself.  Am  sure  we  have  both  learned  a  lesson, 
tho’,  and  hereafter  you  will  be,  I  am  sure,  a  wiser  man,  if  not  a  sadder  one. 
All  the  “possessions”  are  now  returned  to  you,  and  with  the  hope  that  you 
may  have  occasion  to  use  them  in  the  near  future,  I  am, 

Sincerely,  Katharine  S.  Howard. 


i  1 1 


On  August  30th  of  the  following  summer  we  read  this: 

©  © 


Mas.  Reginald  Howard 


ANNOUNCES  THE  WEDDING  OE  HER  DAUGHTER 


Katharine  Stuart 


TO 

Henry  Lyman 

OE  CHARLESTON,  SOUTH  CAROLINA 
AUGUST  TWENTY-FIFTH 

NINETEEN  HUNDRED  AND  TWO 


AT  HOME 

AFTER  SEPTEMBER  IJOth 


i22oO  RIVER  VIEW  AVENUE 
CHARLESTON,  S.  C. 


Lydia  Dozie  Lee. 


The  Ghost  of  the  Homestead. 


ON  a  slight  rise  above  one  of  those  broad,  peaceful  lagoons  for  which 
Louisiana  is  so  famous,  stands  “  The  Homestead.”  It  is  an  old  colonial 
stone  building,  and  its  handsome  pillars,  though  leaning  a  little  ’neath 
their  weight  of  ancient  ivy,  wTill  for  many  years  yet  bid  adieu  to  the  evening 
sun  as  it  tints  the  ripples  on  the  lake.  Wild  flowers  and  vines  and  shrubbery 
grown  wild  make  the  yard  well-nigh  impenetrable,  and  the  broad  gravel  walk 
supports  a  flourishing  growth  of  aspens.  The  fence  has  long  since  rotted 
away,  and  only  the  massive  stone  gate-posts  with  their  rusty  iron  hinges  guard 
the  entrance.  The  path  leading  to  the  “  Quarters,”  now  deserted  and  decay¬ 
ing,  is  scarcely  distinguishable  midst  the  almost  tropical  luxuriance.  But  it 
is  the  silence  of  the  place  which  is  most  noticeable.  The  air  is  laden  with 
perfume,  but  neither  the  hum  of  the  hee,  nor  the  song  of  the  bird  is  often,  if 
ever,  heard  around  the  old  house. 

Such  was  the  place  which  General  Warwick  and  his  daughter  Rosalie 
found,  as,  late  one  evening,  they  strolled  out  from  the  little  village  half  a  mile 
from  “  The  Homestead.”  General  Warwick  was  from  Massachusetts,  and 
had  fought  bravely  through  the  Civil  War,  when  from  exposure  he  had 
developed  the  seeds  of  consumption.  Now  he  had  come  hack  to  that  same 
South  he  had  trampled  upon  to  find  again  the  health  he  had  there  lost  thirty 
years  ago.  Rosalie  had  accompanied  her  father  both  from  love  of  him  and 
an  intense  curiosity  to  see  what  kind  of  people  really  lived  on  the  other  side 
of  Mason  and  Dixon’s  line.  She  was  a  tall,  slender  brunette.  Her  features 
were  strong  and  regular,  and  when  the  warm  blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks  and 
her  eyes  flashed  she  was  very  handsome.  She  had  a  keen  appreciation  of 
beauty  and  an  exclamation  escaped  her  as  they  turned  a  bend  in  the  road 
and  the  old  house  came  in  sight,  just  as  the  setting  sun  threw  in  relief  the 
paneless  windows  and  the  light  evening  breeze  stirred  the  ivy  mantle. 

“Oh,  father,”  she  exclaimed,  “this  is  just  the  place  for  us!  It  is  so 
beautiful  and  stately.  I  could  almost  imagine  myself  in  some  old  feudal 


stronghold.  And  in  this  air  I  know  your  cough  wouldn’t  even  think  of  com¬ 
ing  back.  Won’t  you  get  it,  father  dear?  You  know  you  must  stay  down 
South  a  year  at  least.” 

“Perhaps,  perhaps,  little  girl,”  answered  the  general;  “it  is  certainly  a 
very  striking  old  home.  But  now  it  is  late  and  we  must  start  for  the  village. 
Maybe  we  can  find  out  its  history  there.” 

“I’ll  wager  there’s  some  silly  Southern  superstition  about  it,”  said 
Rosalie,  as  they  walked  back  to  their  boarding-house.  “  There  really  must 
be  something  in  the  air  down  here;  for  I  have  only  been  here  a  month,  but 
when  we  were  looking  at  that  lonesome  old  place,  I  must  confess  I  felt  as 
mysterious  and  ghostly  as  a  native  would  have  done. 

“  Oh,  father,  I  see  Aunt  ISTancy  at  her  door,”  she  exclaimed,  pointing  to 
a  comfortable-looking  old  negro  woman,  with  a  red  bandanna  neatly  tied 
about  her  head,  standing  in  a  cabin  door.  “  I  am  dying  with  curiosity  to 
know  if  there  really  is  a  story.  Come,  let’s  ask  her.”  So  saying,  she  ran  on 
ahead  and,  greeting  the  old  darkey,  asked  her  if  she  could  tell  them  anything 
about  the  old  house  a  little  way  down  the  road. 

“Land’s  sakes,  Miss  Rosalie!  Wat  ol’  house  is  you  talkin’  ’bout?”  asked 
Nancy,  diligently  dusting  the  bench  at  the  door  with  her  apron,  for  her  guests’ 
accommodation. 

“  Why,  that  one  just  a  little  way  from  here,  all  covered  with  vines  and 
going  to  ruin,”  answered  Rosalie,  a  little  surprised  at  her  ignorance. 

“Law,  Miss  Rosalie,  dat  ain’t  no  ol’  house.  Dat  am  ‘  de  Homestead,’” 
said  Aunt  Nancy  in  an  injured  tone,  “an’  you  mus’  n’t  be  talkin’  ’bout  it  in 
no  unrespectful  way,  caze  dat  am  de  saeredest,  an’  de  uncanniest  place  any- 
whar  ’round  here.” 

“  Well,  tell  me  about  it,  Aunt  Nancy,”  said  Rosalie,  very  much  interested. 
“  Who  lived  there  and  why  is  it  deserted  now  ?” 

“Will  you  believe  it?  De  cbile  ain’t  never  beared  ’bout  ‘  de  Home¬ 
stead.’  I  ’clare  to  gracious,  dese  people  from  de  Nor’  is  de  mos’  ignorantis 
I  ever  see !”  exclaimed  Aunt  Nancy  indignantly.  “But  you  an’  yo’  Pajes 
set  down  here,  honey,”  said  she,  changing  her  tone  to  one  of  kindly  solicitude, 
“an’  dis  here  ol’  nigger  ’ll  tell  you  ’bout  ‘  de  Homestead.’  ” 

The  General  and  Rosalie  took  the  proffered  seat  and  listened  with 
interest,  as  the  old  woman  put  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  began. 


“  It  were  like  dis,  lady.  OP  Marse,  he  were  mighty  rich,  but  he  were 
mighty  sad  and  lonesome.  But  one  time  he  went  ’way  for  a  good  little  hit, 
down  in  Floridy  or  somewhere  like  dat,  and  when  he  come  back  he  brought 
OP  Miss  wid  ’im.  She  were  almos’  de  prettiest  thing  you  ever  see,  Miss 
Rosalie;  jes  like  one  of  dem  poppies,  ef  dey  was  only  on  a  white  stem,”  paus¬ 
ing  to  point  to  the  tall  flowers  at  the  corner  of  the  cabin.  “  Well,  arter  dat,” 
she  resumed,  “  ‘  de  Homestead’  were  de  gayest  place  in  de  country,  an’  OP 
Marse  he  weren’t  sad  no  mo’.  But  dey  ain’t  been  married  so  very  long  ’fore 
de  Mexican  War  it  brake  out,  an’  OP  Marse  he  think  it ’s  he  duty  to  go,  so  he 
git  ’pinted  Major,  atP  kiss  OP  Miss  good-bye  right  in  de  honeysuckle  arbor, 
an’  go  off.  OP  Miss  she  jes  seem  to  pine  away  from  dat  time,  aiP,  when  in 
’bout  a  year  dey  brought  OP  Marse  back  on  a  stretcher  pretty  nigh  shot  to 
pieces,  dare  was  a  little  baby  Marse  waitin’  for  ’im  an’  he  po’  wife  am  been  in 
her  grave  mo’  ’an  six  months.  OP  Marse  he  never  walked  no  mo’ ;  an’  he 
got  as  sad  as  ever  ’cept.in’  for  de  interes’  he  took  in  little  Marse  Phillip. 
Bout  three  years  arter  dat,  Marse’s  lonesome  sister  died,  an’  ain’t  left  nobody 
but  a  little  gal  jes  Marse  Phi  nip’s  age,  so  she  come  to  ‘de  Homestead’  to  live. 
Well,  dem  chillun  got  so  thick  till  you  couldn’t  see  daylight  ’tween  ’em  and 
course  we  knowed  dat  some  day  Miss  Amy ’d  be  Missus  of  de  big  house. 

“  Hen  come  long  de  sure  ’nough  war,  an’  de  good  Lord  proteck  us  from 
no  mo’.  It  mos’  kill  OP  Marse  dat  he  can’t  go,  an’  he  keep  Ephum  workin’ 
hard  a  rollin’  ’im  in  de  chare  up  an’  down  de  veerandy  an’  out  in  de  garden — 
it  seem  like  de  air  in  de  house  ’a  kinder  strangle  ’im.  An’  it  pretty  nigh  kill 
Marse  Phillip,  too,  ter  stay  at  home,  bein'  as  he  was  jes  thirteen  an’  too  young. 
But  he  Pa  promise  him  de  day  he  is  sixteen  he  kin  start  out,  so  he  do  he  best, 
an’  got  him  a  sword  an’  uniform  an’  march  all  over  de  place,  keepin’  po’  Miss 
Amy  cryin’  a  mighty  lot,  telling  how  many  Yankees  he  was  gwine  to  kill  an’ 
how  dey ’d  bring  ’im  back  on  de  shiel’,  or  somethin’  like  dat.  An’,  bless  yo’ 
soul,  Miss  Amy  she  jes  change  all  round  in  dem  three  years  an’  by  young 
Marse’s  sixteen  birthday,  she  were  a  reg’lar  grown  up  lady,  an’ jes’  as  brave 
as  you  make  ’em.  ’Bout  dat  time  we  was  havin’  a  might  heap  of  trouble  wid 
dem  Yankees  stealin’  everythin’  we  got  an’  givin’  us  plenty  of  dey  sass;  an’ 
jes  dat  very  mornin’  young  Marse  were  to  go  ’way  we  beared  dey  were  a 
party  galervantin’  round  de  country,  an’  Ephum  he  took  de  hosses  in  de  brush 


an’  put  raos’  of  de  chickens  in  our  cabin,  but  we  never  thought  no  more  ’bout 
it,  we  was  all  so  proud  of  Marse  Phillip,  so  handsome  like  in  he  soldier  dress 
and  Zacherias  boldin’  he  bos.  01’  Marse  were  jes  drinkin’  him  in,  an’  Miss 
Amy  she  were  as  pale  as  dat  white  rose-bush  an’  dingin’  to  him  sorter.  An’ 
de  fus  thing  we  know  of  dem  Yankees  was  bearin’  a  man  coinin’  up  on  de 
porch.  lie  stop  mighty  surprised  to  see  a  soldier  dare,  and  den  haul  up  he 
gun  and  say  4  Surrender,’  an’  young  Marse  he  step  forward  an’  say  4 1  die 
fust !’  an’  den — dey  both  tire.”  Here  Aunt  Nancy’s  apron  went  up  to  her 
face  and  her  ample  frame  shook  with  a  great  sob.  The  woman  was  telling  of 
the  days  of  her  prime  and  of  the  actors  on  the  small  stage  of  her  world  within 
the  larger  one,  and  her  soul  was  with  the  story. 

“Lord,  Miss  Rosalie!  I, jes  can’t  keep  hold  of  myself  when  I  talks  ’bout 
dat  time.  I  jes  see  it  like  it  were  to-day!”  she  said,  brokenly.  “Marse 
Phillip,  bein’  so  young,  tired  wild,  an’  de  Yankee  aimed  an’  de  blessed  chile  jes 
fell  back  heavy  in  Miss  Amy’s  arms.  Dat  were  all.  Dey  buried  ’im  next 
day  side  he  Ma.  It  seem  like  arter  dat  Miss  Amy  she  jes  hound  fer  to  have 
soldiers  ter  take  care  of,  an’  de  house  jest  got  ter  be  a  hospital,  de  ambulance 
stoppin’  dare  reg’lar.  An’  dem  soldiers,  dey  jes  worship  Miss  Amy,  an’  pray 
de  Lord  ter  bring  her  back  whensoever  she  went  out  de  room.  An’  it  keep 
on  till  las’  01’  Marse  know  lie  can’t  live  long,  caze  now  all  ,he  heart ’s  in  de 
groun’  an’  he  gotter  follow  soon.  But  he  knowed  Miss  Amy  ’bliged  fer  to 
have  somebody  to  take  care  on  her,  so  he  writ  to  he  Brer’,  which  he  ain’t 
speak  to  fer  long  time,  caze  he  done  disgrace  de  fambly  by  being  Gen’ral  on 
de  Yankee  side,  an’  he  tell  him  how  de  Ian’  lay,  an’  ax  ’im  to  take  Miss  Amy. 
See,  dem  days  de  trains  was  all  tore  up,  an’  it  were  a  long  time  ’fore  he  could 
get  here,  so  when  he  did  get  here  01’  Marse  done  been  put  side  he  wife  in  de 
fambly  buryin’  groun’.  De  Gen’ral  looked  mighty  han’some  an’  seemed 
mighty  sorry  when  he  looked  down  at  he  Brer’s  grave,  but  we  never  treated 
’im  no  mo’  ’an  perlite,  caze,  axin’  your  pardon,  Miss  Rosalie,  in  dem  days  de 
best  of  de  Yankees  weren’t  no  mo’  ’an  our  po’  white  trash. 

“  Well  he  got  ready  right  at  dust  to  take  Miss  Amy  ’way,  an’  sottle  up 
things  very  business-like.  De  times  war  so  mixed  up  dat  dey  couldn’t  take 
nothing  ’way  from  4  de  Homestead,’  so  dey  jes  locked  de  dob  an’  come  away. 
An’  it’s  jes  sot  dare  like  dat  for  mo’  ’an  thirty  years.”  Here  Aunt  Nancy 


stopped  rath  r  abruptly  and  smoothed  her  apron  carefully,  evidently  expecting 
to  be  asked  why  the  house  had  been  so  long  vacant.  The  question  came,  and, 
casting  a  furtive  glance  behind  her,  she  said  in  aloud  whisper,  “It’s  banted.” 
Then,  seeing  a  smile  on  Rosalie’s  face,  she  spoke  with  more  determination. 
“Yes,  ma’am,  if  you  live  here  an’  is  foolhardy  ’nough,  you  ’ll  see  it,  too.  It 
ain’t  no  bad  bant,  jes  de  fambly  were  so  sad  dat  de  place  am  jes  bubbling 
over  wid  sorrer,  and  every  time  any  young  folks  wat’s  goin’  to  be  married 
walks  round  near  de  place  in  de  twilight  time,  01’  Miss  she  jes  steps  down 
outter  her  picture  wat’s  over  de  mantelpiece  in  de  parlor  an’  follows  ’em 
round,  kinder  sighin’  like.  Cose,  po’  lady,  she  loved  01’  Marse,  an’  he  went 
to  war,  an’  Miss  Amy  she  loved  Marse  Phillip  an’  he  got  killed,  an’  dat ’s 
’nough  fer  to  make  her  spirit  stay  round  de  place  tryin’  to  make  young  people 
not  love  tbeyselves  so  much.  I  hears  from  Miss  Amy  every  Christmas  an’ 
she  tells  me  not  to  b’lieve  in  bants,  but,  not  being  so  well  acquaint  with  spirits 
as  me,  she  don’t  know  dat  no  matter  wat  kind  of  bants  dey  is  dey  want  to  lie 
lef  ’  ’lone  an’ den  dey ’ll  leave  you  ’lone.  An’  dat,  Miss,  is  de  reason  ‘  de 
Homestead ’ ’s  been  so  lonesome  like  sence  de  war.” 

“  Thank  you,  Nancy,”  said  Rosalie,  with  a  tear  glistening  in  her  eye, 
“  thank  you  for  telling  me  about  the  old  place.  The  War  will  always  seem 
very  real  to  me  after  this.  I  don’t  believe  we  in  the  North  realize  that  our 
Southern  brothers  are  made  of  the  same  tlesh  and  blood  as  ourselves.  Good¬ 
bye,”  she  said,  rising  to  go,  “  I  want  to  hear  more  about  ‘  The  Homestead  ’ 
to-morrow.” 

“  Goodbye,  Miss  Rosalie,”  called  Nancy  heartily,  “  it  sure  is  a  pity  as  nice 
a  young  lady  as  you  is  a  Yankee.” 

Rosalie  was  thoughtful  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  the  result  of  her 
thoughts  was  that  she  must,  by  all  means,  stay  in  Louisiana  for  some  time, 
and  not  be  just  a  Yankee  girl  but  a  Yankee  and  a  Southerner  combined.  It 
was  not  hard  to  persuade  her  father  and  very  soon  the  necessary  letters  were 
written  to  the  former  owners,  and  a  score  of  workmen  began  to  tit  up  “  The 
Homestead”  for  its  new  inmates.  Of  course  the  furniture  was  all  mildewed 
and  ruined  and,  strange  to  say,  the  only  thing  which  had  escaped  the  storm  of 
the  elements  for  thirty  years  was  the  handsome  oil  painting  of  the  former 
mistress  of  “  The  Homestead,”  which  had  fallen  from  its  place  on  the  wall  and 


lay  face  downwards  on  the  door.  Rosalie  would  have  nothing  modernized 
and,  restoring  the  frame,  had  the  picture  hung  in  its  old  place  above  the  wide 
fireplace  in  the  parlor.  That  fireplace  contained  one  of  those  freaks  of  archi¬ 
tecture  which  occur  so  unconsciously.  Whenever  the  wind  blew,  and  especi¬ 
ally  at  night,  there  floated  down  the  chimney  strains  of  music,  sometimes  as 
beautiful  as  organ  notes.  Fearful  lest  the  melody  should  be  destroyed,  little 
or  nothing  was  done  to  this  part  of  the  house. 

Early  in  November  the  new  tenants  took  possession  and  all  winter  the 
place  was  running  over  with  young  Northerners,  but  it  was  not  until  April, 
when  Rosalie’s  twenty-first  birthday  was  to  be  celebrated,  that  the  grand 
house  party  was  to  be  given.  After  that,  they  were  going  North  and  she  was 
to  be  married  in  the  tall.  To  this  fete  she  had  invited  the  man  of  her  choice, 
George  Lyons,  a  young  Philadelphia  lawyer.  The  country  folk  were,  at  first, 
very  distant  and  it  was  extremely  hard  to  keep  servants.  The  negroes  were 
constantly  imagining  they  saw  “  bants  ”  and  leaving  at  the  most  inopportune 
times.  Aunt  Nancy,  too,  held  to  her  principle,  “  Leave  bants  alone  an’  dey 
’ll  leave  you  alone,”  and  only  came  at  high  noon  and  left  long  before  sun¬ 
down.  But  in  the  spring,  when  the  air  above  the  lagoon  became  heavy  and 
humid  and  the  Northern  girl  had  a  severe  attack  of  fever,  the  villagers  and 
negroes  alike  ran  over  each  other  in  doing  all  in  their  power  .for  her,  and  the 
barrier  was  broken. 

At  last,  the  day  came  when  she  was  to  come  to  her  inheritance,  so  to 
speak.  The  house  was  beautifully  festooned;  for  a  week  all  hands  had  been 
decorating.  The  portrait  above  the  parlor  mantel  showed  to  its  best  advan¬ 
tage  with  the  ample  folds  of  an  old-rose  drapery  falling  gracefully  about  it  and 
all  was  in  perfect  taste.  The  evening  was  clear  and  fine  and  Rosalie,  though 
pale  and  weak  from  her  illness,  was  beautiful  in  her  white  gown,  as  she  stood 
in  the  door,  blushingly  receiving  congratulations.  George  Lyons  was  there 
and  never  very  far  from  her.  An  impromptu  ballroom  had  been  made  in  the 
yard,  and  there  was  dancing  and  much  merriment  over  cutting  the  cake, 
until  a  late  hour.  Rosalie  was  very  happy — she  did  not  dance  much,  but, 
during  several  intervals,  had  little  talks  with  George,  picturing  that  October 
day  when  their  horoscopes  should  join. 

About  midnight  a  sharp  wind  arose  and  the  guests  from  the  country 


1 18 


began  to  disperse,  and  Rosalie,  tired  and  worn  out,  went  to  the  house  a  little 
earlier  than  the  rest.  As  the  gayety  had  been  on  the  lawn,  the  house  was 
not  lighted  except  by  the  radiance  of  the  full  moon.  As  Rosalie  went  through 
the  wide  hallway,  she  heard  strains  of  exquisitely  sad  music  coming  from  the 
parlor  and,  thinking  that  one  of  her  girl  friends  had  left  the  dance  early,  she 
tipped  to  the  door  to  scold  her  for  playing  so  sad  a  tune  on  such  a  day.  By 
the  moonlight  shed  through  the  open  window,  she  saw  a  figure  sitting  at  the 
piano,  swaying  gently  to  the  cadence  of  the  music.  Yielding  to  a  sudden 
impulse,  she  went  forward  to  put  tier  fingers  over  the  e}’es  of  the  girl.  Her 
hands  stretched  out  and  clasped  the  head  of  the  musician — only  to  clasp  each 
other  !  And,  looking  down,  she  saw  that  the  stool  was  empty.  Her  blood 
chilled  and  a  wave  of  superstition  rolled  over  her.  She  glanced  at  the 
portrait — the  drapery  had  fallen,  covering  it  entirely.  Quickly  she  hastened 
from  the  room,  and,  at  the  hall  door,  convulsively  clasped  George,  exclaiming, 
“  Oh,  George,  I  have  seen  her.  I  have  seen  her !  ” 

“  Seen  who,  dearest?”  he  asked,  bewildered. 

“  The  lady  from  the  portrait!”  she  whispered,  and  fainted. 

It  was  several  days  before  Rosalie  could  leave  her  room  and,  by  that  time, 
trunks  were  packed  and  all  were  ready  to  leave  two  months  before  they  had 
intended.  Weak  as  she  was,  Rosalie’s  nerves  were  too  unstrung  to  bear  such 
a  shock  and  it  was  some  time  before  reason  and  reasoning  made  things  clear 
for  her. 

The  wind,  blowing  through  the  open  window,  had  made  the  drapery  of 
the  portrait  cast  a  weird  shadow  in  the  moonlight  and  had  finally  made  it  fall 
over.  The  music  had  come  from  the  old  chimney.  That  was  all. 

But  what  is  such  an  explanation  to  those  of  the  soil  who  know  better! 
And  if  you  will  go  in  the  neighborhood  of  that  broad  lagoon,  an  old  white- 
haired  negro  woman  will  tell  you  the  story  of  “  The  Homestead,”  with  the 
additional  story  of  “  dem  Yankees — an’  dey  was  nice  Yankees  too — wat’s 
come  here  takin  de  hants’  place  from  dem.  But,  no  sah,  de  hants  dey  don’t 
give  up  ;  de  white  folks  give  up” — and  she  points  to  a  ruined  old  colonial  build¬ 
ing,  weighed  down  with  ivy. 


Annie  Hendren  Patrick. 


IfEnvoi. 


AFTER  the  last  bell  lias  rung,  the  last  light  extinguished,  the  last  drowsy 
voice  sunk  to  rest,  “  leaving  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me,”  then  it 
is  that  gazing  out  upon  the  sleeping  world,  those  sweetly  solemn 
thoughts  come  to  the  watcher  in  the  night.  All  around  is  peace  and  stillness, 
while  over  all  the  silvery  moon  casts  her  pale,  soft  light,  veiling  the  ugly  and 
clothing  the  world  in  a  tender  radiance.  Beneath  its  rays  our  dear  old 
Institute  lies  quiet  and  peaceful,  wrapt  in  slumber.  Dark  are  its  many  corri¬ 
dors  save  where  the  flickering  gaslight  throws  its  weird  shadows,  vacant  are 
the  schoolroom’s  many  desks,  so  lately  tilled  with  busy  girls,  while  all  the 
voices  of  its  merry,  chattering  occupants  are  hushed  in  slumber.  ISTo  sound 
breaks  the  stillness  in  which  that  sheltering  home  of  happy  girlhood  lies 
wrapt,  save  the  restless  tossing  or  indistinct  murmuring  of  some  tired  inmate 
whose  dreams  are  haunted  by  the  memory  of  some  unlearned  lesson  or 
unsolved  problem  of  school-life.  Then  comes  the  memory  of  the  day  with 
its  busy  hours,  crowded  with  its  thousand  little  cares  and  duties,  and  so 
pleasantly  intermingled  with  it  all  the  little  joys  so  necessary  to  school-life 
and  so  inseparable  from  it.  Each  hour  with  its  accustomed  duty  or  pastime 
stands  out  clear  and  distinct,  often  recalling  a  smile  to  our  lips.  And  yet 
against  the  cares  and  restrictions  that  needs  must  form  a  part  of  the  sweet 
and  happy  life  our  spirits  often  rebel,  crying  out  for  freedom,  impatient  of 
restraint  and  longing  for  the  time  when  we  shall  cast  aside  all  rules  and  live 
free  and  happy  in  the  bright,  dazzling  world.  But  heyond  these  kind  pro¬ 
tecting  walls,  heyond  the  sleeping  city,  beyond  those  blue  mountains,  shining 
in  the  moonlight,  encircling  this  quiet  valley  and  shielding  it  from  the  piti¬ 
less  wind  and  raging  storm,  is  it  all  so  bright,  so  fair,  so  beautiful,  as  in  our 
dreams  wTe  picture  it  ?  Are  there  no  cares  and  worries  there,  no  haunting 
duties  to  perform,  no  tiresome  lessons  to  learn  ?  Will  all  be  jo}^  and  happi¬ 
ness  there,  over  those  blue  hills?  Perhaps.  And  yet,  what  are  those  tales 
they  tell  of  grief,  and  sorrow,  and  suffering?  The  tales  of  sin  and  cruelty, 
the  tales  of  a  life  that  is  worse  than  death,  of  hearts  that  are  broken  and 
bleeding — are  they  true?  We  shudder  with  pain  and  fear  at  the  thought 
and  fain  would  rest  alway  ’neath  thy  kindly,  sheltering  wing,  oh,  home  and 
guide  of  our  youth  !  Louise  Briscoe. 


i  20 


WM.  T.  HARTMAN, 

P.  H.  HEYDENRICH. 

Livery  and  Boarding 

-  Stables - 

<-3L 

North  Central  Ave.,  STAUNTON,  VA. 

Rubber-Tire  Buggies,  Traps,  Lan¬ 
daus,  and  Broughams  with 
electric  lights. 

1 

Special  Attention  paid  to  Wedding  and 

The  ONLY  Place  Where  You 

Funeral  Turnouts. 

Can  Get  Everything 

TELEPHONES:  Mutual,  49  ;  Bell,  65. 

Good  to  Eat. 

' 

Bll&L  I 

INTERIOR  OF  JEWELRY  STORE 


1foenr\>  X. 
Xano,  «  « 

STAUNTON, 
VIRGI  N  I  A, 

Masonic  Temple. 


College  Medals 
and  Badges, 
Society  Pins, 
Emblems, 
Wedding  and 
Society 

Engraving. 


A  it  0  it  h  t  a 

JOHN  FALLON 

National  lank 

STAUNTON,  VIRGINIA 

..  jflortst.. 

CHOICE  CUT 
FLOWERS 

Capital  Stock  paid  in,  $100,000.00 
Liability  of  Stockholders,  100,000.00 

ROSES,  CARNATIONS 

Surplus, .  35,000.00 

AND  VIOLETS 

Total,  .  .  .  $235,000.00 

gk 

W  M  .  PA  T  R  I  C  Iv  , 
President. 

ANDREW  BOWLING, 

Vice-President. 

W  .  P  .  TAMS, 

C  A  S  H  I  E  R  . 

DIRECTORS: 

Wm.  Patrick,  Isaac  Witz, 

Andrew  Bowling,  J.  H.  Woodward, 

Jos.  Barkman,  E.  M.  Funkhouser. 

Jno.  T.  Harman,  L.  W.  H.  Peyton, 

43  r  c  c  n  l)  o  u  0  c 

C.  P.  Bowman. 

N.  Lewis  St.  and  Central  Ave. 

Post-Office  Box,  484 

Mutual  Telephone,  180 

Night  Telephone,  Mutual,  511 

^  ^.'  ■>*.•  '^.,  '^.*  '^.-  ^,-  ^.-  ^.-  '^.- 

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Houston  Oil  Company  of  Texas 


HOUSTON,  TEXAS 


¥¥¥ 


Capital  Stock,  $30  000,000.00 

Owns  1,000,000  Acres  of  Land 

¥¥¥ 

Produces  70,000,000  Barrels 
of  Oil  per  Year 

vvv 

Operates  only  Independent  Refinery 
in  the  South 


//  -5"  •’5”  -5^  •5”  -5^  J5,r  -5^  -5"  •!>  -5"  -5^  -5^  -5”  'C-  "C-  ^ >5-  'C-  "C-  >£■ 


ShrecKhise  &  Bear 


Dealers  in 


Fine  Dress  Goods, 
Silks,  and  Ladies' 
Fur  nis  hi  ngs. 

SOLE  AGENTS  FOR 

The  Celebrated  Centemeri  Glove,  Ameri¬ 
can  Lady  Corset,  and  Royal 
Shirt  Waist. 


An  up-to-date  dress-making  establish¬ 
ment  in  connection  with  the  store. 


A.  Erskine  Miller 

Successor  to 

M.  ErsKine  Miller  &  Brother 

WHOLESALE 

GROCER 

Coal  and  Lumber  Dealer 

Staunton,  Va. 


RO.  W.  BURKE  EDWARD  ECHOLS 

President  Vice-President 

H.  A.  WALKER,  Cashier 

1620 

The  National  Valley  Bank  of  Staunton 

STAUNTON,  VIRGINIA 


S.  P.  SILLING 


Dealer  in 


AT  CLOSE  OF  BUSINESS,  FEB.  25,  1902. 

RESOURCES 

Loans  and  discounts . $683,499  92 

Overdrafts .  1  304  94 

U.  S.  Two  per  cent,  bonds  (par  value) .  100,000  00 

Other  stocks  and  bonds  .  138,115  50 

Banking-house  and  fixtures .  15,000  00 

Due  from  banks . $345,126  68 

Cash  on  hand  .  152,179  84 

Redemption  fund .  2,500  00 

-  499,806  52 


$1,437,726  88 


LIABILITIES 

Capital  Stock  . $100  000  00 

Surplus  and  profits  (net) .  329,320  95 

Circulation .  50,000  00 

Deposits— 

Individual  . $896,015  90 

Government  .  50,000  00 

Banks  .  12,390  03 

-  958,405  93 


Accounts  Solicited. 


$1,437,726  88 

H.  A.  WALKER,  Cashier. 
Collections  a  Specialty. 


Choice  Fresh  Meats 

Fish  and  Oysters 

No.  10  North  Augusta  Street 
STAUNTON,  VA. 


The  Smith  Fuel  Co. 


Coal ,  Coke 
and  Wood 


107  W.  Frederick  St. 


Staunton,  Va. 


jCilcic  Cream,,, 

Cures  Chapped  Stands 
fflough  Skin,  Sore  jCips 

It  is  a  cool,  creamy  application  which 
beautifies  the  skin  and  allays  the  smart¬ 
ing  and  bleeding  of  Chapped  Hands. 
It  heals  all  the  little  cracks  and  rough¬ 
ness.  It  makes  the  skin  soft  and  smooth. 
It  is  fragrant,  pure,  and  delightful  to  use. 

rou>  drops  rubbed  on  your  soro 
Zips  uu //  ro motto  //to  crac/cs 
and  roup/tness  . . . . 

and  make  them  all  right  again.  By  ap¬ 
plying  a  little  before  going  out  in  the  wind 
you  will  find  it  a  fine  protection,  as  it  pre¬ 
vents  chaps  and  roughness  as  well  as  heals 
them  after  they  come. 

*11? it  is  on  SDros. ,  ‘Druggists 

tS ter  u  n  to  n, 


G.  SCH1RM  ER 

35  UNION  SQUARE 

NEW  YORK 

a 

Publisher  and  I m porter  of 

MUSIC 

H  EADQUARTERS  FOR  ALL  THE 

IMPORTED  EUROPEAN 
EDITIONS 

♦ 

Catalogues  and  Graded  Guides 
sent  free  on  application 

H.  W.  HILLEARY 
Real  Estate 

Staunton,  Va. 


Colonial  Estates  a  Specialty 


College  of  William  and  Mary 

WILLIAMSBURG,  VA. 


Full  Normal  and  Collegiate 
Courses. 


Students  taking  the  Normal  Course 
are  exempt  from  tuition  fee  and  are 
boarded  for  $10.00  a  month. 

Next  session  begins  on  the  first 
Thursday  in  October. 

Send  for  catalogue. 

LYON  G.  TYLER,  M.  A.,  LL  D., 
President 


DRINK 

Virginia  Magnesia  Alkaline 


IT  IS  THE  BEST  AND  CHEAPEST 


Delivered  every  day  fresh  from  the 
Springs  at  the  low  rate  of  $1.00  per 
month. 

SPECIAL  ATTENTION  GIVEN  TO 
ALL  SCHOOL  ORDERS. 

TELEPHONES:  Mutual,  310;  Beli,  70. 

Office:  No.  7  North  New  Street, 
STAUNTON,  -  -  VIRGINIA. 

A.  W.  BLACKLEY,  Manager. 


Are 

You 

Good 

At 

Figures 


O 


Now ’s  the  Chance  to  Prove  It. 

To  the  young  lady  who  first  hands  us  a  correct  solution 
of  the  following  problem,  we  will  present  a  pair  of  our  Celebrated 
Princess  May  Gloves: 

What  is  the  Price  of  eggs  per  score,  when  ten  more  in 
62J  cents  worth  lowers  the  price  31^  cents  the  hundred  ? 

Try  this — it’s  worth  working,  even  if  you  don’t  win. 

Let  us  also  show  you  our  $1.00  glove — they  are  the  best 
on  the  market  at  that  price.  Every  pair  fitted  at  the  counter  and 
guaranteed. 

Our  line  of  white  goods  and  ribbons  is  complete  in  every 
respect. 


MILLER  &  BRADLEY 


r 

t 


►M*  —  ♦♦♦« 


•Htt— «(— ***— ■  Mt« 


<1.  Kx.  Caldwell,  president 


»«♦ 


E>.  p.  Sites,  Secretary 


H 

s 


GalbwelU  Sites  Co. 

Booksellers,  Stationers 
printers  ant)  Engravers 


5 

1 

2 


* 

L 


Mo.  7  /iftasonic  temple 
Staunton,  Da. 


Mo.  105  S.  Jefferson  St. 
IRoanoke,  Da. 


We  aim  to  keep  our  business  in  all  its  branches  fully  up  to  the  stand¬ 
ard.  We  carry  the  largest  stock  of  Miscellaneous  Books  in  this  part  of 
the  country  and  are  prepared  to  supply  any  book  published,  promptly. 

Mail  orders  will  have  our  careful  attention,  and  any  goods  sent  out 
in  this  way,  that  are  not  found  to  be  fully  up  to  representation,  may  be 
returned  at  our  expense. 

Due  mafte  a  specialty  of  1bigb=Class  Engraving, 
Dflebbing  announcements,  Disiting  Garbs,  Etc., 
anb  earnestly  solicit  pour  commanbs 

We  are  putting  in  this  season  a  very  large  assortment  of  Golf 
Goods,  Tennis  Outfits,  Baseball  Supplies,  Etc.,  and  are  prepared  to  fill 
orders  for  anything  in  the  line. 

Soliciting  the  patronage  of  our  acquaintances  and  the  public  gen¬ 
erally,  we  remain 

Yours  very  truly, 

CalbwelU  Sites  Company 


►w— m— w— w— m— 


— m— m— »m— »m« 


*♦♦♦ 


x 

_i 


MltH 


« University  of  Uirginia « 

CHARLOTTESVILLE,  VA. 


The  next  session  of  the  University  begins  15th  September,  and  continues  nine  months.  The 
following-  departments  of  study  are  represented  : 

I .  ACADEM ICAL.—  Includes  the  schools  of 


LATIN, 

GREEK, 

ROMANIC  LANGUAGES, 
TEUTONIC  LANGUAGES, 


ENGLISH  LANGUAGE, 
ENGLISH  LITERATURE, 
HISTORICAL  SCIENCE, 
MORAL  PHILOSOPHY, 


PURE  MATHEMATICS, 
APPLIED  MATHEMATICS, 
ASTRONOMY, 

NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY, 


CHEMISTRY, 

ANALYTICAL  CHEMISTRY, 
BIOLOGY, 

GEOLOGY. 


Each  school  offers  an  independent  course  of  study,  leading  to  a  diploma  of  graduati  n  in  the 
school.  In  each  school  there  is  also  offered  a  limited  B.  A.  course,  and  graduation  in  ten  of  these 
courses  (chosen  with  restricted  election)  leads  to  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts.  A  Bachelor  of 
Arts,  upon  graduation  in  four  schools  (chosen  with  free  election),  receives  the  degree  of  Master 
of  Arts:  or  upon  graduation  in  three  schools  and  completing  post-graduate  courses  of  study  in 
two  of  these  schools,  he  receives  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy.  In  addition,  a  special 
course  has  been  arranged  for  the  government  consular  service. 


II.  E ING I  N  E  ER I  N  G.— Four  distinct  courses  are  offered,  leading  to  degrees  in  Civil,  Mi¬ 
ning,  Mechanical,  and  Electrical  Engineering,  and  requiring  for  tlieir  completion  three  or  four 
years  each,  according  to  the  preparation  of  the  applicant.  In  addition  to  the  purely  didactic  work, 
which  is  unusually  copious  and  exact,  ample  facilities  are  provided  for  practical  exercises  in  the 
held,  the  drawing  room,  the  shops,  and  the  mechanica1,  physical,  chemical,  and  geological  laborato¬ 
ries. 


III.  LAW.— Thee  iirse  as  lately  reorganized  is  distributed  over  two  years,  as  follows: 

Junior  Year.— The  Law  of  Persons;  Personal  Property  (including  sales);  Wills  of  Personalty 

and  Administration;  the  Law  of  Contracts;  the  Law  of  Crimes  and  Criminal  Procedure;  Mercantile 
Law;  Negotiable  Paper,  Partnership,  Insurance;  Torts,  Bailments  and  Carriers;  Theory  of  Gov¬ 
ernment;  Constitutional  Law;  International  Law. 

Senior  Year. — Equity  Jurisprudence  and  Procedure;  Bankruptcy:  Pleading  and  Practice  in 
Civil  Cases;  the  Law  of  Real  Property;  the  Law  of  Corporations;  the  Law  of  Evidence:  the  Con¬ 
flict  of  Laws. 

The  candidate  for  the  B.  L.  degree  is  required  to  attend  two  full  sess;ons  of  the  law  school. 

An  excel 'ent  special  course  is  provided  for  students  who  can  attend  but  a  single  session,  and 
who  are  not  candidates  for  the  degree. 

The  library  facilities  are  excellent. 

IV.  MEDICAL  . — The  course  is  graded  and  arranged  for  four  years.  Only  students  who 
have  attended  lectures  on  the  studies  of  the  first-year  course  at  this  University,  or  some  other 
reputable  medical  school,  are  eligible  for  the  studies  of  the  second  year.  All  graduating  examina¬ 
tions  must  be  passed  here. 

During  the  First  Session. — Chemistry  (with  an  introductory  course  upon  the  principles  of 
Chemical  Physics),  Practical  Physics,  Biology  (Comparative  Anatomy,  Normal  Histology  and 
Embryology);  and  Descriptive  Anatomy. 

During  the  Second  Session. — Physiology;  Bacteriology;  General  Pathology;  Regional  Anat¬ 
omy;  Materia  Medica  and  Practical  Chemistry. 

During  the  Third  Session.  Obstetrics;  Practice  of  Medicine;  Surgery;  Special  Pathology 
and  Clinical  Diagnosis  and  Dispensary  Clinics. 

During  the  Fourth  Session. — Practice  of  Medicine;  Therapeutics;  Hygiene;  Clinical  Sur¬ 
gery  ;  Dermatology  ;  Diseases  of  the  Eye  and  Ear;  Gynecology  and  Medical  Jurisprudence; 
Dispensary  and  Hospital  Clinic. 

Spec/al  attention  is  given  to  practical  exercises  in  the  Laboratories  and  the  Dissecting  Hall,  to 
practical  surgery  upon  the  cadaver,  and  to  clinical  work  in  the  Dispensary. 

For  Catalogues  and  fuller  information,  apply  to  P.  B.  BARRINGER,  M.  D., 

Chairman  of  the  Faculty. 


Not  Everything 

We  can’t  print  everything  better  and 
cheaper  than  anybody  else  anywhere,  but 
we  can  print  some  things  better  than  any 
one  else,  and  some  things  cheaper  than  any 
one  else,  our  establishment  being  probably 
better  equipped  for  all-round  work  than 
any  other  in  all  this  seftion.  :  :  :  : 

THE  STONE  PRINTING  AND 
MANUFACTURING  COMPANY 

E  D  IV  A  R  D  L  .  STONE  ,  President 
110-112-114  N.  Jefferson  Street,  Roanoke,  Va. 


This  is  one  of 
OVER  TWENTY 
College  and  University 
Annuals  printed  and 
bound  at  our 
establishment  during 
the  season  of  1902. 


Spring  Arrihala 


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LATEST  STYLES 


PALAIS  ROYAL 
IHtUiuprg 

A  department  devoted  to  the  sale  of  hats 
in  all  the  London,  Paris,  and  New  York 
styles . 

Tailor-made  Suits,  and  Skirts.  Corsets, 
Gloves,  and  a  general  line  of  up-to-date 
Ladies’  Furnishings  at  the . 


Mti§.  liolliftag 

Up-to-date  Shoe  House 
STAUNTON,  VIRGINIA 


PALAIS  ROYAL 

No.  25  West  Main  St. 
STAUNTON,  VIRGINIA 
M.  Summerfield,  Proprietor 


IVI.  K.  &  T.  R  Y. 


The  Students’  Line 


.  .  .  LEAVE  .  .  . 

ST.  LOUIS 

f(  Katy  Flyer”  at  8:32  P.  m.,  with 

Through  Sleeper  to  City  of  Mexico 

Texas  Express  at  11:45  p.  m. 

Mail  and  Local  at  9:15  a.  m. 

Katy  Chair  Cars  (  Seats  Free  )  on  all 
trains.  Meals  at  Katy  Dining  Stations 
50  cents. 

C.  HAILE,,  JAMES  BARKER, 


Traffic  Manager,  General  Passenger  and  Ticket  Agent, 

St.  Louis,  Mo. 


CARTER  WALKER,  AT.  A.,  Head  Master 


WOODBERRY  FOREST  SCHOOI 

ORANGE,  VIRGINIA 


The  Kirby  Lumber  Co. 

HOUSTON,  TEXAS 


Largest  Manufacturer  of 

Yellow  Pine  Lumber 

IN  THE  WOK.LV 


Sixteen  Up  =  to  =  Date  Mills 


Annual  Capacity,  400,000,000  Feet 


HSrokm’a  Uttifarratty 

‘‘BootuBcckk’’ 

Srluutl 

PANELS  AND 

NEAR  CHARLOTTESVILLE,  VIRGINIA 

OVALS,  AND 

Situated  in  a  beautiful  and  healthful 

“9iit  jfolticts” 

region,  and  fully  equipped  with  modern 
improvements,  this  school  affords  every 

ARE  THE  LATEST  FADS  IN 

attraction  to  those  seeking  the  advantages 
of  home  life  and  thorough  training  and 

ARTISTIC  PHOTOGRAPHY  AT 

development.  Endorsed  by  the  Faculty 
of  the  University  of  Virginia.  .*  .'  .'  .'  .' 

Herkrley’a 

y.  Thompson  Brown ,  Jr. 

Adjoining  Masonic  Temple 

(University  of  Virginia )  Principal 

STAUNTON,  VIRGINIA 

Drs.  G.  A. 

JOSEPH  BARKMAN 

&  A.  H.  Sprinkel 

MAKER  OF 

(Eaniiy,  (Eakra, 

DENTISTS 

3lr?  (Errant 

Whitman’s  and  Lowney’s  Choco- 

108  West  Main  Street 

DATES  AND  BON-BONS 

Main  Street 

Staunton,  Virginia 

STAUNTON,  VIRGINIA 

EPISCOPAL 
HIGH  SCHOOL 

Near  Alexandria,  Va. 
Founded  J  8  3  9 

L.  M,  BLACKFORD,  M,  A., 

PRINCIPAL 


The  Diocesan  School  for  Boys  of 
the  Dioceses  of  Virginia,  West 
Virginia,  and  Southern  Virginia. 


Catalogue  Sent  on  Application 


H.  HUTCHINSON  &  CO. 


liluilrsalr 


DEALERS  IN 

FLOUR 
TOBACCO 
CIGARS 
Etc.,  Etc. 


Itis!  ributo is  of 

1®  it  0 1|  It  urn- 
(£  r  n  0  b  y '  0 
"(fuilti  itlebal” 

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STAUNTON 

VIRGINIA 


KNOX’S 

HATS 


« 


THE  STANDARD  OF 
FASHION  EVERYWHERE 

Six  Highest  Awards  at  the 
Columbian  Exposition 

AGENTS  IN  ALL  THE 
PRINCIPAL  CITIES 

194  FIFTH  AVENUE, 

Under  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  New  York. 
212  BROADWAY, 

Corner  Fulton  Street,  New  York. 

240  FULTON  STREET, 
Brooklyn,  New  York. 

191  and  193  STATE  STREET, 
Palmer  House,  Chicago. 


<  5T.LOUISl20cK 

TO  p>  i 


H„f5W'!"™.| 

>i*OT  S  *tlA’  GREAT?* 

^ExarKAn  south weS 


THROUGH  StRVICE  TO  THE  GULF 
D  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA  POINTS, ®|r^ 
WITH  ONLY  ONE  CHANGE  OF  C  A  R  S  TO  TH eW 

gCITT  OF  MEX^Mjf- 


THE 


SUE  SOUTHERN  RO; 


C.G.WARNER,  RUSSELL  HARDING,  H.C.TOWNSEND. 

VICE.  PRESIDENT.  3d  Vico-Pres.  &  Cen’l  Mgr.,  CEN'l  PASSENGER &.TICKET  AC  T. 
ST.  LOUIS. 


A.  A.  GALLAGHER,  DIS’T  PASS.  AGT.,  408  VINE  STREET,  CINCINNATI,  OHIO. 


A  Full  and  Complete 
Line  of . 

(Emnlta,  It  air  Urusltcs 
uJmittj  Ulrmsljrjs,  wmlrt 
®mlri  Artirlrs 


In  fact,  everything  neces¬ 
sary  for  health  and  comfort 
can  be  found  at  :  :  :  :  :  :  : 

1.  IF.  Snuj 

No.  6  S.  Augusta  Street, 
STAUNTON,  VIRGINIA 

PRESCRIPTIONS  A  SPECIALTY 


DENNY’S 

Women's  Furnishings 


The  CHOICEST  Line  of 

Uru  (Manila 

To  he  Found  in  Staunton 


DENNY'S 

S  i  a  u  n  t  on,  Virginia 


Our  Idea 


Is  to  handle  your  order  for  print¬ 
ing  just  as  if  you  were  the  only 
customer  we  had,  and  yours  the 
only  order  in  our  establishment ; 
as  indeed  it  is,  so  far  as  you  are 
concerned.  If  you  don’t  get  this 
kind  of  service,  you  don’t  get  what 
we  want  to  give  you;  that’s  the 
idea  we  train  our  forces  to  follow. 

The  Stone  Printing:  and 
Manufacturing  Comp’y 


Edward  L.  Stone,  President.  Roanoke,  Va. 


This  is  one  of 
OVER  TWENTY 
College  and 
University  Annuals 
printed  and 
bound  in  our 
establishment  during 
the  season  of  1902. 


Staunton  Public  Library